Blow Me (One Last Kiss)
by define-serenity
Summary: [Sebastian/Blaine] Wherein The Warblers are a college society named Cronus, and Sebastian and Blaine pretend to be boyfriends. Kind of anyway. SERIES. COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

**characters/pairings (all):** Sebastian/Blaine, midgame Sam/Blaine, midgame Blaine/Hunter, minor Sebastian/Adam, Eli, The Warblers (Cronus), Karofsky, Quinn

**author's notes:** yes, you read that right, several midgame ships in between all the Seblaine. oops? this was inspired by Grant's blink-and-you'll-miss-it storyline on _90210_, but mostly i have no idea what the hell this is. thanks to **xsaturated** for beta-reading.

**warnings (all):** angst, tw: suicide, character death, sex, explicit language, switching POV (bracketed)

* * *

**BLOW ME (ONE LAST KISS)**

**part one**

* * *

It started out as a ruse.

Neither of them is sure where exactly the idea came from, but it was definitely at Blaine's suggestion.

It was a Monday. He'd gotten home at 2am after a long and tedious weekend in the Hamptons, celebrating his grandparents' fiftieth wedding anniversary. He loved his grandparents; he had fond memories of his grandfather taking him to the beach and building sandcastles, teaching him how to ride a bike and take apart a radio but never able to put it back together.

What he didn't enjoy was being poked and prodded at for three full days–_when are you finally bringing a girlfriend_, _we all know this gay thing's a phase_, _why can't you be more like your brother_–all his father's words, and the only thing his grandmother could do was roll her eyes behind his father's back, his grandfather smiling with a wink–a similar smile slid to the corner of his mouth; his grandparents were his only allies against his parents' disapproval of his sexuality and he sort of loved them for it, much more than he could express.

Still, the weekend had worn him out, there came a point in his father's shortsightedness where the words got to him, sank underneath his skin and festered there, until infection set in and he was left with a nauseating pit in his stomach.

That's why he's so glad Monday comes around, even though he has a brutal day of classes ahead, but school means coffee in the morning and a talk with his best friend and _college_ and everything that comes with it. He won't need to be told this in years to come: he already knows his college years are the best years of his life.

"Why the long face, killer?"

He takes a deep breath and smiles; Sebastian never disappoints.

"Weekend with your parents went that well, hu?" Sebastian asks and appears in line next to him.

"Two medium drips, please," he tells the barista, Monday mornings the only time of the week that Sebastian doesn't take a shot of Courvoisier in his coffee.

He sneaks a glance at Sebastian. "They set me up again."

"You're _kidding_." Sebastian's tone suggests little humor, it's endowed with both the gravity and dismay he feels resting squarely on his shoulders. He loves that about Sebastian, his pride somehow always enveloping them both, their friendship based on (among other things) mutual support and understanding.

He pays for both their coffees, a ritual they take turns with, while Sebastian grabs them both some napkins, two bags of sugar, and some stirrers.

"Who was the lucky girl?" Sebastian asks once they're settled down at their usual corner table.

"Quinn Fabray," he says, the blonde coming back to life in front of his eyes. Apparently Quinn had been in the Hamptons visiting her grandparents as well, and had been roped into the blind date with the argument _he's a Liberal Arts major at NYU, and he's very good-looking_. Her first line to him was _they weren't kidding_ and he's sure he'd blushed. And Quinn was stunning, he could never deny that. His problem with girls wasn't so much that he didn't think them kind and sensitive or their bodies beautiful, as it was his inability to see them as sexually interesting. He loves girls, he has plenty of female friends he confesses his fondness to all the time, but he could never love them the way his father hoped he would.

He'd told her this right after they placed their orders at the restaurant, though in slightly nicer terms. Quinn had released a breath, huffed _thank God_ and told him she was sick and tired of being set up with rich douchebags who only stared at her boobs and couldn't form a correct English sentence. He assured her he was decidedly not a douchebag (or so he liked to believe), had no interest in her–_breasts_, and that he was quite eloquent when he needed to be. The direct result of their date was, once again, a friendship he'll be maintaining for a while to come, so it wasn't a total waste of time.

"_Fabray Motors_, Quinn Fabray?" Sebastian asks.

He nods, distracted by the sudden surge of heat from his coffee cup.

"You know if you marry that girl you'd be set for life," Sebastian jokes.

He sighs deeply, too frustrated to laugh. "I swear to God, ever since–"

He doesn't say it, Kurt is one thing they've decided never to talk about–Sebastian hated Kurt the moment they were introduced and near the end of their one-year relationship even he was left to wonder how he'd been so blind. Any love that had existed between them had been extinguished slowly by Kurt's careless dismissal of his feelings, his assumption that he would be there for him day and night but couldn't be bothered to do the same when he needed Kurt, and the frankly arrogant tone Kurt addressed him with any time he perceived he'd been wronged in some way.

But ever since their break-up his parents had seen hope, they'd counted on his broken heart to entangle with the realization that dating boys would cause him nothing but heartache, but unfortunately (for his parents) that wasn't exactly the way it worked. His heart got broken, the break-up painful and messy, some guy named Chandler suddenly more important to Kurt than anything he could offer and Kurt hadn't even blinked when he got accused of cheating.

It was hard for him to recognize he'd been taken for granted in their relationship, but it was surprisingly easy to walk away from Kurt.

"You can hardly blame them for trying to set up one of Manhattan'smost eligible," Sebastian says, (purposely trying to steer the conversation onto another topic. Blaine never says Kurt's name to spare him, to make sure Kurt never comes between them again like he managed two years ago, taking but never giving anything back. He'd seen it right away, maybe because at the end of the day that's how he treated his own boyfriends, but that's not the kind of boyfriend Blaine needed. Or deserved.)

He shifts forward to the edge of his chair. "I've been thinking," he says, having turned over the idea in his head a few times now, and this weekend had reaffirmed his need for his life to take a different turn. "I want to invoke the code."

A smile slowly creeps across Sebastian's features. "Careful, Anderson, you're starting to sound like a Cronus guy." (He's teasing, but he's so intrigued that he doesn't take it any further–Blaine joined Cronus at his insistence and participated in most of their activities, but he'd never used his connection to Cronus to get him anywhere. Blaine preferred working hard over getting the answers from his fellow Cronus members and he respects that. So what reason could Blaine have to invoke their code now?)

"How can I help a brother out?" Sebastian asks.

"I think," he starts carefully, thus far undecided on how he would word it, and that's why it comes out wrong at first, "–for our own sanity's sake, we should date."

He takes a breath.

"Pretend!" he exclaims once he's run through his own words again. "We should pretend to date."

Sebastian's eyebrows shoot up.

"There'll be no more blind dates, no more awkward first meetings, no more questions."

Sebastian's eyes narrow on his face. He swallows hard; he didn't really think this through in detail, all he knows is that Sebastian's his best friend and his parents have been setting him up with girls too–in fact Sebastian's mom probably got the idea from his. Sebastian's as tired as he is of his parents' constant insistence that straight is the only way to live. And Cronus was all about brothers helping brothers. So what could it hurt?

"You wants us to pretend to be boyfriends to fool our parents," Sebastian says.

"Didn't you go out with that Lopez girl three times to shut your mother up?"

"Fair point," Sebastian says matter-of-factly, (not the least bit embarrassed that Blaine knows he can't say no to his mother. "But she was great fun," he adds. After finding out that Santana had been forced into the date for the same reasons – her sin being blondes with long legs – he hadn't seen any trouble in hanging out with her at least a few times. And that girl could hold her liquor.)

"We already go to the same parties," he argues. "Now we'd just go there together."

Sebastian chuckles. "And you could be my designated driver."

He frowns.

Sebastian arches an eyebrow. "We both know you can't handle alcohol."

He laughs. "See?" he says, "Nothing but perks."

Sebastian stares down at his coffee, seemingly losing himself in thought. (It's not that it sounds like a horrible idea, in theory it's perfect, they already know each other as well as two people can know each other and it would be one sure-fire way to get two sets of parents off their backs. But even if they were pretending, being boyfriends was a whole different thing than being friends.

"Come on, Smythe," Blaine insists. "We're friends. It's not like I'm asking you out."

No, Blaine's asking him for something else altogether and he loves Blaine, everyone and their mother knows that, but this could backfire fast. Then again, it won't be permanent, and Blaine had been oddly specific about why he was doing this–Blaine likes girls fine, but there comes a point where he needs to be able to date whoever the hell he wants. And if he can provide the first step towards that, then fine, he'll help his best friend out.

"Alright," he caves. "We'll try it your way."

Blaine raises his coffee in a toast and he taps it with his.

"After all, the code must be honored.")

.

Blaine Anderson meets Sebastian Smythe at the young age of three months, when the newborn Sebastian is placed in his crib next to him for naptime. Their mothers are old friends who'd become inseparable in high school, had both married wealthy men, had somehow both ended up living in Manhattan and by some miraculous stroke of luck had even managed to get pregnant around the same time.

It was only natural, then, that their sons would grow up together too.

The two boys do everything together, despite their personalities greatly differing; Blaine sleeps on his tummy and Sebastian on his back, Blaine sits still when his mom feeds him his meals while Sebastian often flings his food right back, Blaine's a cry baby while Sebastian's a solid sleeper, even though in a waking state Blaine's a lot more capable of playing quietly with some lettering blocks or a book he can't read yet. Sebastian's a tomboy the moment he's able to stand on his own two feet.

They go to the same pre-school, the same kindergarten, where Sebastian sticks up for Blaine when the other children tease him about his glasses. Blaine's all giggles when Sebastian gets his own glasses a few years later, but he's never teased about it.

Sebastian's parents throw in the towel on their marriage when he's eight years old. It doesn't matter to him, they've been shouting abuse at each other for years now and frankly he's tired of waking up in the middle of the night to hear his mother crying or shouting and his father sitting at the end of his bed asking where he went wrong while he pretended to sleep. Blaine will still crawl into his bed at night whenever he's staying over and he hears him having a nightmare, a guarding presence in his darkest moments.

Once they hit high school they both prove to be academically achieving, but whereas Blaine most often than not will have his nose buried in a book, Sebastian will be out on the field with his lacrosse buddies. They do homework together and go to the same parties, and Blaine's popular because Sebastian is. They make an odd pair, anyone will agree, but they never stray far from each other. Blaine's at every single one of Sebastian's games and Sebastian shows his support whenever Blaine has to give a speech for student council.

Sebastian is the first person Blaine tells that he's attracted to boys, and Sebastian feels a great sense of relief, because he's been walking around with this secret for a while, afraid to tell anyone, but Blaine makes it easy for him to confess. They tell Sebastian's parents first, then Blaine's, and find support with each other when both sets of parents are less than thrilled about the news. But while Blaine often cries alone at night, Sebastian accepts these are the cards he's been dealt, and there's little he can do to change about it.

Neither of them had the intention of attending the same college, but that's sort of how it turns out when they both decide they don't want to leave New York, and their parents don't really want to let them go either. They stick close to home, much to their regret, but mostly they stick with each other.

.

Telling people that they're dating, whether it's the truth about their arrangement or the lie, turns out to be nerve-wracking. Sebastian would say otherwise because he's not generally the kind of guy to worry, but Blaine turns jittery every time he thinks about telling his parents that night. He and Sebastian had agreed that for their parents to be convinced it would take a little more than attending the same parties together, so Sebastian had suggested that they go to the restaurant opening on Fifth and Lexington and make a show of it.

He couldn't really disagree, the restaurant was co-owned by the mother of one of their mutual friends, Marley Rose, and they'd had to swear _hands on their hearts_ that they'd come. Besides, it would be easier to get a table for two than for four.

"Blaine, honey, where are you going?" his mom asks as soon as he hits the bottom step of the stairs. His parents are curled up on the couch in the living room, watching some Swedish or Danish crime drama together–it's their regular date night and he can tell his mother got to pick the program of the evening. Not that he'd ever heard his father complain.

"Out with Sebastian," he says, his parents' focus divided between him and the television somehow making it easier for him to say.

"Where?" his mom asks, hugging a big bowl of popcorn in her arms.

"To the–Medusa?" He swallows hard. "The new restaurant."

His father looks at him. "You're going out to dinner?"

"Yeah, it's–" He clears his throat. Moment of truth. "It's kind of a date."

His mom blinks up at him, eyes wide and all her attention redirected towards him now, the television forgotten.

"A date with Sebastian?" his dad asks, his voice sounding louder somehow and he dreads what comes next. "Blaine, you–"

But he never does find out what his dad's objection to Sebastian is–his mother swats at his father's arm, said _'Philip' _as a means to silence him and she's smiling up at him. This is why it had to be Sebastian.

"Better hurry up then," his mom says, voice barely disguising her excitement. "Just remember you have–"

"–brunch at the Berry house," he fills in, nodding. Like Rachel would ever let him forget. It was Rachel's way of thanking him for tutoring her boyfriend Jesse, but he was happy to help out. "I know, mom."

His mom stares at him lovingly. "Have fun, sweetheart."

His mouth quirks with unease and he raises a hand in a half-hearted wave, making his way outside. Maybe he should feel sad, maybe his mother's knee jerk reaction to him dating Sebastian should put him in a tailspin of doubt and hurt because how can she accept him dating Sebastian but not any other boys? But the point of this charade was to get a little more leeway to date who he wants, to make his own choices free of his parents' incessant nagging, and pretending to date the one boy who's always been in his life was the perfect ruse.

Sebastian's waiting for him downstairs, leaning back against his black Mercedes Benz, legs crossed at the ankles, hands in his pockets. "And?" he asks.

"Worked like a charm."

(They share a smile and as Blaine's rounding the car to get to the passenger side door he catches a glimpse of Blaine's mom in the window on the first floor. "Hang on," he says and sprints after Blaine.

Blaine halts in his tracks before he figures out he's reaching for the door. "Sebastian, you don't have to–" Blaine starts with a chuckle, but he invades his personal space and it stops Blaine talking.

"Your mom's watching," he explains, leaning in even closer, until their chests are almost touching, and he can whisper in Blaine's ear. He hopes that from the first floor window it looks like a kiss on the cheek, not that he'd have any issues with kissing Blaine, even on the lips. But Blaine's a lot more withholding in his physical affection.)

"Get in the car, killer," Sebastian whispers, breath hot against his ear and it's not uncomfortable, they've been up close and personal like this on countless occasions, both as children and teenagers and no one ever made a big deal out of it, least of all them. And now it seems, neither did their mothers.

He chuckles and gets in the car, Sebastian closing the door for him. He watches Sebastian make his way around the car again, waving up at his mother and he shakes his head; their mothers will be calling each other any minute now.

This is why it had to be Sebastian.

.

Their brothers, surprisingly, don't even laugh when they hear about their arrangement. They've all known Blaine and Sebastian long enough, know their background the way that only brothers can, and so they understand why they'd both be so willing to fake a relationship. For years Cronus has had a zero-tolerance policy and neither Sebastian nor Blaine can deny that was one of the reasons they'd accepted to join in the first place.

The only reason there'd been so many jokes when Nick and Jeff started dating was because the two of them had been so ignorant throughout their freshman year that it had taken a few nudges and an elaborate prank to get the two of them together. And Mike Chang, head of Cronus before Sebastian, had agreed that having a gay couple in the club raised their social standing considerably. The new head dating another member – even if it was pretend – could only lower the fear threshold for freshmen even further.

The only one who cracks a joke is Karofsky, right before Rich grabs him in a headlock and tells him to take it back. Which he does, laughing.

.

"A toast!" Sebastian calls, raising his beer above his head, the rest of the room following suit.

They went all out for Karofsky's goodbye party, all of them pitching in to pay for the venue, the DJ and the booze. One of their friends getting recruited by a renowned talent scout to go play for one of the biggest football teams in the state doesn't happen every day.

As the head of Cronus, Sebastian felt it was his duty to make a short speech before everyone got too drunk to remember why they were there in the first place. And Sebastian took his role as leader very seriously. He's standing next to Sebastian in the bar, kind of as his unnamed second in command, surrounded by their brothers and their girlfriends, some of Karofsky's classmates and some friends from back home.

"To the finest right guard McKinley High has ever known," Sebastian says once he's drawn all the focus in the room to him.

"Boo!" someone calls and a wave of laughter spreads through the room.

"To _the_ most obnoxious drunk," Sebastian says.

"Right after Blaine!" Karofsky provides.

"_Right after Blaine_," Sebastian concurs. He glares up at Sebastian, but doesn't protest; he does get a tad unpredictable when he drinks too much. "And to one of the finest brothers this club has ever known. He will be sorely missed, but he's going to kick ass."

"He better!" Rich shouts.

He raises his glass a few inches higher. "Hear hear!" he calls.

"Hear hear!" the rest of the room joins in, most of them downing their beers in only a few gulps.

Karofsky makes his way over to him. "Hey man," he says, keeping his usual distance. They've been close friends for two years now and Karofsky still acts like they've only just met, a nervous smile playing around his mouth, eyes never quite settling, and his hands wringing around his bottle of beer. "I wanted to thank you for all your time and patience."

"No problem, man." He smiles, because Karofsky has thanked him plenty for tutoring him. It makes him good money, and as far as his 'students' went, Karofsky was one of the brighter ones–he only needed to apply himself. "I was happy to help."

"I'm serious," Karofsky insists. "I wouldn't have gotten this far without you. You've been a real friend."

"Dave," he says, the reality of the situation slowly sinking in: Karofsky's saying goodbye knowing they might not have many opportunities to see each other again. He's happy and proud that Karofsky's gotten this chance, he's worked hard and it's paid off, but he's going to miss his friend. And it can't be easy for Karofsky to leave this all behind.

"We're brothers," he adds, hoping to show Karofsky that they'll be here for him whenever he needs someone. "And what are brothers for?"

But when he looks up there are tears in Karofsky's eyes and he can imagine his conflict: the excitement of getting this amazing opportunity mixed with fear of the unknown–that's enough to make anyone cry at his own goodbye party.

"You'll do fine, you big dork," he says, reaching an arm up to squeeze Karofsky's shoulder. "And you know we'll all be there for your first game."

Before either of them can respond Sebastian joins them and throws an arm around Karofsky's shoulders. "Enough with this sentimentality," Sebastian says, even though he doesn't mean it. "We're here to have fun. And we're still stuck with him all week."

Karofsky wanders around the rest of the room, stopping to talk with someone once in a while, thanking people, hugging his brothers, someone handing him a fresh supply of beer whenever his last one threatens to empty.

He spends some time talking to the guys, before sitting down at one of the tables lining the walls, watching everyone have a good time. He and Sebastian had been on their feet all day, putting the finishing touches to this party. It's a mystery how Sebastian's still standing.

"You're in Cronus too?" a voice sounds next to him, and he feels the distinct slide of another body coming closer to him, a whiff of air to his left.

He blinks and turns his head, met by two bright green eyes and a nice head of blond hair once he manages to tear his eyes away from the fullest lips he's ever seen. "Hi," he breathes, head finally catching up with whatever else he'd been thinking with. "Yeah."

"I'm Sam," the boy in front of him smiles. "Sam I am. But I don't like green eggs and ham."

He chuckles, unable to contain the reaction, but he figures that was the point of the joke. "Blaine," he says, and makes a half turn to face Sam.

"Your boyfriend sure knows how to give a speech."

"Oh, he's not–" He laughs, because he didn't think he'd have to explain this to anyone quite so soon. Explaining sort of beats the whole purpose of pretending in the first place, but it happens too fast for him to consider anything else. He tells Sam he and Sebastian are faking their relationship so he can be free to date whoever he wants, and when Sam points out that's really kind of silly he has to agree. But unfortunately it was the only way. Sam adds that when you think it through it's actually more sad than silly and he has to agree with that too.

It turns out that Sam is an old buddy of Karofsky's from McKinley High–he attends community college back in Ohio but he was in town to visit an uncle and that's when it becomes clear to him why Sebastian had insisted the party had to be this week, and not closer to when Karofsky was actually physically leaving. Sebastian doesn't like people to think he's sentimental, but he sure does know how to be.

He talks to Sam for the rest of the night; Sebastian's on the dance floor and most of the other guys seem to be entertaining themselves so he doesn't think it's impolite to seclude himself. Sam starts doing impressions close to midnight and he's in stitches for the better part of an hour, Sam's smile infectious, his impressions dead on. They fall into nerd talk (Sebastian's words) about Wolverine and Cyclops and somewhere somehow Sam's lips end up on his, and he melts forward against them, so soft and so full, and they taste like strawberry chapstick.

He closes his eyes and licks at those amazing lips, his tongue settling against Sam's moments later, and he could do this forever, drown in the gentle back and forth of kisses and tongues, the uncomplicated caress of a hand down his chest, one slipping underneath his shirt. Sam's abs feel like they've been _sculpted_, and gosh, he goes hot all over. He's kissed other boys but it's been so long, too long to go without this and deep down he realizes he's always understood why Sebastian doled out his physical affection so easily.

They make out _forever_, tucked away safely in their little booth where no one disturbs them, don't say another word until the party starts winding down, and Sam points out his uncle would worry if he stayed out all night. Sam gives him his number, so they can meet up one of the following days maybe, and leaves him laughing at a Terminator impression.

("He was cute," he tells Blaine later, once the party's over and everyone's gone home. He'd given Blaine a wide berth of space the entire night, seemingly enjoying himself with that boy from Ohio and once the kissing had started, well, Blaine could handle himself from there. He already knew Blaine had game.

Blaine has a goofy smile plastered across his face and it takes him all his strength not to poke fun. But this was the point of it all, their pretending, make Blaine feel safe enough to put himself out there without needing to worry about his parents. And Blaine had called him crazy for organizing the party a full week ahead of schedule.

"He was, wasn't he?" Blaine sighs contently.

He throws an arm around Blaine, one of Blaine's around his waist, and they make their way to his dorm room in silence. Blaine still lives with his parents, but it's too late to stumble home right now, and it's too far anyway. And dating, even fake dating, entailed staying over at his boyfriend's place from time to time, even if Blaine would be sleeping on the small pull-out couch.

As far as arrangements went, he had to admit, there's no one else this could've worked with but Blaine.)

.

He shows Sam some of his favorite places in New York; this cute café Rachel takes him to all the time, where NYADA students come out to hang and sing songs; a bunch of thrift stores he'd once spend a weekend exploring with Sugar that had the coolest things at reasonable prices; they only visit the Empire State Building because it's Sam's first time in New York and he doesn't want to deny him the view.

They laugh at each other's jokes over lunch, stop by a comic book store, and when he catches Sam's eyes over a copy of a vintage _The Avengers_ comic something hot settles in his stomach; Sebastian had lent him his dorm room and he doesn't want to assume that Sam's game for another make-out session, but one look at those lips makes any apprehension fall away.

"I have somewhere–" he stutters, cheeks flushing hot at his own ineloquence. "–we can be alone?"

But Sam's smile puts him at ease immediately. "Let's go."

And before he knows it they're settled on Sebastian's bed, shoulders to the wall, lips locked, knees barely touching. It's as amazing as he remembers, Sam's full lips moving against his and he'd be lying if he said he hadn't thought about them all over his body, that spot behind his ear, down his collarbone, his nipples, down to his bellybutton and–heat rushes down his spine and he goes hard in his pants.

Sam's hand curls around his hip and tugs gently, urging him to come closer. Sam opens his legs and he slides his between with little effort, each of his legs lying interspersed with one of Sam's, their lips never separating.

Until Sam grows bolder and trails kisses down his cheek, his jawline, finding that sensitive spot he'd fantasized about; his stomach flutters, hard-on straining against the fabric of his pants, and_ oh God_, he could get off doing this alone. His hips buck involuntarily, cock rutting against the inside of Sam's thigh.

Sam pulls back and just when he fears he's royally screwed up Sam asks: "Do you have condoms?"

His mouth goes dry.

"I–" He swallows hard, reaching to remember _what are condoms?_ until his brain catches up. "Oh," he breathes. "Yeah." And then he's scrambling up from the bed to dig around Sebastian's bedside drawer, praying to whatever deity will listen that Sebastian remembered to stock up. Half his brain expects to find a box of condoms with a post-it note attached to it from Sebastian, but luckily his best friend had chosen to spare him that.

He'll be the first to admit that maybe he's a little too enthused when he finally unearths a strip of condoms from the drawer and holds it up, but his cock's trapped painfully hard in his trousers and _why does he bother with these kinds of pants?_ But he knows why he does, it's because when he turns around Sam fails to disguise that he was most definitely checking out his ass and liked what he saw.

Only when he turns around he's also struck by the sudden_ awkward_ of it all, they're about to have sex in his fake boyfriend's dorm room, who'd took the night out to go to the gym and have dinner with his mother so as not to disturb them.

"We don't have to–" he starts, but is stopped by a boyish smile that almost literally spells out_ yeah,_ _dude, we really do_, but instead of being a dude Sam grabs his hips and pulls him back down onto the bed.

And really, why insist on chivalry when Sam has the lips of a Greek god–hell if he knows what that even means, but soon Sam's lips close around his cock and his nerves_ snap_, his head falls back in the mattress and his eyes drift closed, one hand winding automatically in Sam's gold honey hair, a shuddered groan scraping at his throat.

His hips buck and he hears Sam gag a little, but it's interrupted by a moan. He forces himself to look down, Sam's lips wrapped ruby red about his hard-on, the sight almost enough to make him come. But then he notices Sam's body's moving too and when he raises himself on his elbows, he sees one perfect white ass, Sam fucking himself against the sheets.

He tugs helplessly at Sam's hair while his head bobs up and down his length, his mouth a hard pressure, sucking hard. Sam adds a hand, playing with his balls before fisting around the base of his cock and he loses it, coming in Sam's mouth in hot spurts.

"God, Blaine," Sam moans, nuzzling at his hipbone, angling his hips against the mattress.

His cock twitches.

"Let me see you," he pants, losing his voice. "Sam, I want to see you."

Sam whines but raises himself up over him. He doesn't hesitate to close a hand around Sam's cock, hot and heavy in the palm of his hand, slick with precome all over. He lets Sam fuck himself in his hand, adding pressure whenever he strokes forward, eliciting desperate moans that make his delicious lips part in a gasp. Sam comes undone all over his chest, come splattering down on his skin, dripping over his fist.

Sam crashes down, knocking the breath right out of him, heavier than he thought he'd be.

"Sam," he croaks, but Sam gets the picture pretty quickly and slides off, both of them settling on their side.

"That was nice," Sam whispers.

"Yeah, it was," he whispers too, licking at Sam's lips, and they lose themselves in another match of lazy kissing.

It's dark by the time Sam makes it out of the bathroom and says he should probably head home. He pulls his shirt back on but he smiles at Sam, walks over and kisses him, drawing his hands down his torso, reimagining the outlines of Sam's impressive abs.

"Later, alligator," Sam says, his_ dude-ness_ back in full swing and disappears through the door.

He sighs contently, nearly breaking out in a full-on _Singing In The Rain_ routine, but he controls himself.

He texts Sebastian a brief 'Coast is clear, B', changes the sheets, and cracks a window, padding downstairs barefoot to wash the sheets he and Sam violated. There's a grin pulling at his mouth the entire time, even as his eyes follow the twirls of the tumbler-dryer.

He's never felt more free, more alive, than right at this moment. He's pretty sure this would've happened regardless of his arrangement with Sebastian, but his parents hadn't uttered a word about blind dates or girls for nearly a month now and combined with the night he had–yeah, if he had an umbrella he'd be dancing right now.

.

Saying goodbye to Sam turns out to be harder than he thought; he knew they did what they did because they didn't have much time and there was nothing wrong with enjoying each other's company to the fullest while they could, but he made a friend in Sam, and it's difficult to see him go.

Sam pulls him into a hug right outside his uncle's house, it's a crushing weight but this time he doesn't complain. He's going to miss Sam.

"Maybe next time I'm in New York and we're both still single we can–" Sam voice trails off, uncertain on what he's allowed to imply at this point.

He smiles. "I'd love that," he says, even though he has little hope of ever seeing Sam again.

He waves at the car until Sam's out of sight and gets back into his own. He doesn't feel like going home to an empty house and work for school, so he texts Sebastian to ask if he can come over, a positive answer coming only seconds later.

He doesn't knock before entering Sebastian's room, he simply strolls in, Sebastian seated on his bed to the left side of the room, leaning back against the wall with his legs propped up, books splayed open to his right, a notebook in his lap.

"Everything okay?" Sebastian asks, eyes following him across the room.

"Yeah," he sighs, but doubts he sounds convincing, and sits down in Sebastian's desk chair. He pivots a few times before stilling, only to find Sebastian's still staring at him.

"Come here." Sebastian pats the bed to his left.

He drags himself over, not the least bit ashamed at how childish he's acting and sits down cross legged next to Sebastian. Sebastian's hand settles at the small of his back seconds later, drawing circles.

"There'll be other blonde adonises, you know," Sebastian says.

"I know." He shrugs, scratching the back of his head. "But I liked this one," he says, a nonchalance to his tone that proves he's being sulky. He knew what he was getting into when he met Sam, and dwelling on what-could-have-been will do him no good at all. So he decides it was enough, he had a good time with a great guy, uncomplicated and fun, unburdened by his parents for the first time in his life.

He leans back against the wall, Sebastian reclaiming his hand, and starts reading along with what Sebastian's writing. From what he can gather after reading a few lines it's a paper on copyright law. "You misspelled acquiesce," he says, eyes catching on the word, pointing it out even though Sebastian's spellcheck would probably correct it later.

"Thank you, Mr Anderson," Sebastian says, completely unironic, underlining the word two times. He's not sure why Sebastian insists on writing out his papers, rather than type them up on his computer; it has to be far less time consuming. But despite Sebastian's free spirit and 21st century perspective on a whole lot of matters, he can be so incredibly old-fashioned about other things. Sebastian might get that from him.

"We going out tonight?" Sebastian asks.

"How about dinner and a movie instead?" he suggests, not really in the mood to interact with a whole lot of people. "My treat."

Sebastian smiles without looking up from his notes. "Sounds great."

.

They settle into a steady routine: Sebastian picks him up, kisses him on the cheek whenever his mother's watching, and he sleeps over on Sebastian's silly little couch from time to time. The ruse works like a charm, neither of their mothers give a peep, even though they're pretty sure there's a distinct possibility they're already planning their wedding, but the silence is golden and a nice relief from their usual prying. Sebastian's father isn't around enough to spew his opinion and his father remains silent under his mother's influence, he suspects.

Sebastian hooks up with a few guys at Scandals, but from experience he's learned they're always one-night things. The only guy Sebastian hooks up with regularly is Adam, and that's only because the two of them used to date and figured out they were much better at the physical side of a relationship than being in love. Adam spends most of the year in London, but when he's in New York he spends his nights in Sebastian's bed.

And he flirts relentlessly, grinds up to some guy named Tucker at Scandals and they fool around in the backroom, but he ends up going home with Sebastian. There's a medical student named James he goes out with twice, but dinner and a movie and some seriously sloppy sex at his apartment later they part ways, as friends they say, but they never talk again.

Ford, skinny as he is, has the body of an artist–he's skin over bones and he can count his ribs through his skin, but his lean fingers and hands carve him out like he's a sculpture, reaching inside him deeper than anyone has ever managed, winding him up until the early hours of the dawn before he finally lets him climax and Ford licks through the mixture of their come on his chest. It doesn't last more than a week, Ford's too esoteric even for his taste, and he suspects he gets high on something he doesn't want people to know about.

But he won't deny it's great fun. He and Sebastian are both having the time of their lives and even Sebastian agrees this might be the best idea he ever had.

.

The first time his mom asks Sebastian over for dinner he almost loses it, sees their entire charade crumble to pieces right in front of his eyes because surely they'll notice, they'll see that they're the exact same goofs they've always been and aren't even remotely dating.

He doesn't want it to be over, not after tasting this kind of freedom. Sebastian massages at his shoulders until he's calmed down, assuring him that his mother loves him, that they've never seen him with a boyfriend because they've never invited any of his other boyfriends over, so they won't know what to look for. If anything this proves their ruse is working, and his parents are willing to make a concession for the boy that pretty much grew up in their house too.

"I'm insulted this hasn't happened sooner," Sebastian says, lips at his ear. "We've been dating for almost three months."

He smiles and drops his head back on Sebastian's shoulder, letting Sebastian massage at the knots in his own shoulders, effectively chasing away his stress.

Once the dinner comes around, Sebastian shows up on his doorstep in a new suit, that stupid-ass grin on his face, and a bouquet of flowers for his mother.

He shakes his head. "You're impossible," he says, hearing the steady tap of his mother's heels behind him.

Sebastian kisses him on the cheek. "If anyone asks, that's why you fell in love with me," he whispers and winks down at him.

As the night progresses he has no idea why he was worried. Sebastian was right, his mother loves him, his father loves him, Sebastian's been coming by since he was born, grew up in these same rooms, sat at this dinner table on countless occasions.

He_ loves_ Sebastian, he knew that on the day Sebastian's mom took them both to the optometrist and the doctor told Sebastian he'd have to wear glasses too. He'd almost fallen off his chair laughing, his own glasses crooked on his nose, because Sebastian had been secretly jealous he looked more like Clark Kent than he did. Now they could both be Superman.

By the end of the night they're all laughing because Sebastian has always been this guy, to him, to his parents. The only thing that's different is that Sebastian has an arm thrown around his shoulder, teases at his leg underneath the table for effect, and leans over to kiss his temple right before dessert.

It doesn't mean anything, except that they're best friends who would grant each other the world if they could.

.

And then comes the day that everything changes.

They find out during one of their assemblies, going over the activities calendar, dividing assignments and generally goofing around. It's a day like any other, the sun is out, Jeff sits lounged back against Nick's chest and Sebastian's hovering close to him.

Thad's phone beeps with a Facebook alert and from the way his face falls the group becomes instantly aware that something is very very wrong. "Karofsky's dead," he whispers.

"What?" Rich asks, and no one's too sure if he asks because he honestly didn't hear or because he believes his ears deceive him.

"He–he killed himself," another voice sounds and every head turns, Trent standing in a corner of the room with his phone in hand. "My mom just texted me."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Sebastian asks, but there's confusion riddled across everyone's faces and soon the entire society's texting or calling or IM'ing someone who might have more information.

He reaches his mom ten minutes later and she's crying, so hard she hardly gets a word out, but he doesn't need a detailed explanation to figure out what happened: someone on Karofsky's prestigious new team had found out he was gay and spread the news around everywhere, news sites had picked it up and it'd made its way to his parents and all his friends from back home in a matter of hours.

And he'd killed himself.

He pulls down towards the floor, grateful that there's a set of arms around him that directs him safely into a chair, but he's not sure who it is; the world has blurred around him, all rational and logic gone, stripped down to the cold hard place so many gay youth think it is.

Dave was gay?

Why hadn't he come to them?

It's Sebastian who navigates everyone out of the room, cutting their meeting short, waiting for everyone else to leave before tending to him. Sebastian tries to find his eyes, calls out his name a few times, but what can he possibly say that won't make the pain worse, that will take the hazy sheen of disconnect?

Sebastian drives him home, where he falls into his mother's arms and cries for a very long while, and during that very long while he's that little boy who worships his mother, who doesn't yet have the weight of incomprehension separating him from the woman who's supposed to love him regardless of his sexuality and he holds on for dear life. He needs unbridled comfort, because everything has stopped making sense.

His father says nothing; no doubt he has his opinion on the snivelling son running for safety in his mother's arms, but he was close to Dave's father, and when it really comes down to it his father's love for him is greater than his disapproval. He feels his father sit down behind him, a hand on his shoulder moments later. He squeezes his eyes shut tightly, locking out everything that isn't his parents' comfort.

All activities are suspended for a week, the society's gatherings only revolving around how they can help the Karofskys out in this difficult time and helping them arrange the funeral service. He becomes disconnected from it all, and if it weren't for Sebastian he wouldn't be here at all this week. The thought that it could easily have been him, Sebastian, Nick or Jeff, _Sam_–it keeps him up at night, whatever sleep he does manage to catch plagued with nightmares of being trapped in an endless room all alone, no doors or windows, not a person in sight, only a void white space that doesn't end.

Sebastian recites something at the funeral, a beautifully voluminous speech, the basics of which he'd used at Dave's goodbye-party. It makes people laugh and it makes people cry, and it's exactly what it should be–Sebastian's had a talent for words ever since he was a little boy and there are moments, rare and few, that he knows exactly how to use them.

(Blaine's a small mess when he finds him outside on the terrace, everyone inside still reminiscing, bringing back memories of Karofsky so he can stay alive in their minds. It's a strange thing, mourning, conjuring the image of a person and suddenly even their harder sides become endearing too because _that was so like him, wasn't it?_

His heart beats raw in his chest, Blaine's mental absence this week harder on him than he thought it would be. He's been running on empty without his best friend and he'd really like him back. But that might still be a while.

Blaine struggles with this much more than he does, having grown up in the shadow of an older brother who was everything his parents hoped he'd be: good-looking, successful,_ straight_, and somehow Blaine tries hard to live up to that. But no one can_ live up_ to a sexual preference, yet Blaine had tried to make up for that too, trading in the bowties he wore as a boy for bland one-color shirts whenever he wasn't wearing his Dalton get-up, getting better grades than Cooper (which wasn't that hard), becoming successful at everything Cooper was and wasn't.

But it was a constant struggle because the one thing his parents wanted changed he couldn't even bring himself to try.

Blaine turns when his footsteps resounds on the tiles, but doesn't say a word. His hazel eyes aren't as bright as they usually are and the corners of his mouth have been downturned for the better part of a week–the only thing that had brought back the hint of a smile was his speech earlier and he hopes that Blaine knows, he wrote that speech for him, not for all the other people there.

"Did you know?" he asks, without a specific goal in mind, but it's too silent and somehow the air feels sad as well, dark and slow, everything weighed down by Karofsky's absence.

Blaine sniffles. "No."

"I wish he'd told us," he says, moving to stand next to Blaine but as soon as he does Blaine pulls inside himself, head down, chin to his chest, and his body shakes with a sob.

He raises a hand to Blaine's back.

"I'm sorry." Blaine draws in a shuddery breath. "I thought I was–"

"Do you want to be alone?" he asks, even though there's not a fibre in his body that could leave Blaine right now.

"No." Blaine shakes his head, tears rolling down his cheeks and his body making a half turn towards him. _"No_."

After years of being best friends he does it instinctively by now, reaching his arms around Blaine and Blaine asks for it instinctively as well. Blaine shakes against him and his heart clenches in his chest. "I got you," he says, almost losing control over his voice because it's the first time he allows himself to feel it too. Karofsky's_ gone_, and what the hell for? He took one step into the big bad world and got cut down for who he was, for who he fell in love with. Such a waste.

He wishes Karofsky had told them, then maybe he could've gotten comfortable with himself first before the pressure of a professional football career forced him back in the closet. Maybe if they'd been paying closer attention, if he'd been the leader he strived to be then maybe–no, it's no good to think like this.

"It's okay," he says, not sure who he's talking to.

"It's not okay," Blaine cries, face twisting into his shoulder, fingers digging into his back. "It's not okay, Sebastian."

No, it's not okay, but he wishes he could make it better.)

Sebastian drives him home, neither of them speaking, there are buildings that hurtle by behind the window, filled with faceless people who might be as sad as him right now, or not sad at all, living their own lives without knowing the world is short one_ obnoxious drunk_, a fine brother, an amazing football player.

He doesn't want to think about where he'd be without Sebastian, _who_ he'd be without Sebastian, if he would've ever had the courage to come out, to kiss that first set of boy lips. In another world Dave's fate could've been his and it's left him crippled; he hasn't been there for Sebastian, hasn't been the friend he should be, hasn't stopped to consider how Sebastian might be feeling. Because Sebastian only hides it better.

Sebastian parks the car and they both get out, heading for the front door. He fiddles with his keys, but can't bear to go inside yet. Inside it's empty, his parents still at the Karofskys and he's still bleeding too openly to be okay on his own.

"Are you going to be okay?" Sebastian tunes into his train of thought, a hand on his shoulder for comfort. He likes what Sebastian's simple touch manages to do to him, relax a part of him that's been knotted together in the hopes it'll keep him from falling apart, the same part that turns in on itself when things get too rough, the part that's kept Sebastian at a distance all week. But here he is nonetheless.

He looks up at Sebastian, into the green eyes he knows like none other, and he's hit with a lightning thought: what if Sebastian could help him with something more than a touch?

"Sebastian," he whispers, staring up at the boy who's heard all his secrets, has seen him at his best and his worst, who knows he shouldn't be alone tonight. "Kiss me," he says, the words an almost physical presence between them, sudden and hopeful, a wish for unbridled comfort right here on his parents' doorstep.

Sebastian's eyes go a little wider, the reality of his request slowly sinking in. They're already pretending, what's one kiss, one simple show of affection–it's not even about that. He needs to feel something that isn't this... _despair._

"Blaine," Sebastian says, fingers curling in his jacket (and he thinks Blaine asks because he shouldn't be alone, but his arms can only cure so much. Blaine asks because he's good with words but he's not a magician; he has no trick that can mend a broken heart.)

"Just–no strings," he says, "No nothing." There's a numbness coursing through his entire body, something hollow beating at the center of him, a white empty space that's become the stuff of nightmares. "Just make me believe it all means something."

He's asking for so much, for one kiss to validate an entire life of self doubt, for lips to smooth the hurt of political incorrectness, but mostly he's asking his best friend what best friends do like none other: make him see sense in a nonsensical existence.

(In hindsight he should've thought it through more thoroughly, should've considered Blaine loves differently, takes and gives it without much reserve, but in that moment there's only honey hazel eyes that need their shine back and if he can help with a kiss, just one kiss, then why the hell not?)

Sebastian reaches a hand up to his cheek and his mind goes blank, his lips part and Sebastian becomes _everything_, his whole world right there. One single moment in time his best friend does what he needs him to do, comfort him unquestioned, kiss him unpretending. Or maybe they're pretending for real this time.

Sebastian leans in and he reaches up, their lips meeting tentatively somewhere in the middle, only a touch at first, the added steady pressure of a kiss until Sebastian parts his lips as well, pulling slightly at his upper lip with his own, another kiss until there's a gentle nudge for more, more room to breathe, to move, to sink into something unthinking.

(He's never thought about it, how Blaine's lips would feel, how they'd taste, how the cool and breezy smell of _boy_ would capture him so completely. He's known Blaine his entire life, understands every nook and cranny of his bristling personality, but he's never stopped to consider that comprising all of that is a strong and lean body, stout yet compact, capable of lust as much as love.

And the thought of that alone is so incredibly hot.)

And then Sebastian goes all in all at once, his tongue barely waiting for permission, it slides deep into his mouth, settling hot against his, and Sebastian's sucking at his lips. There's nothing merciful about it, Sebastian claims his mouth and he lets him, a dizzy rhythm for a heart crying out. He moans, grabbing at Sebastian's sides to steady himself even though he's pressed tight against the wall behind him, fingers grappling haphazardly at white cotton.

(He pulls back before he loses control of his body's reaction, moves his groin back before Blaine manages to lock his hands together at the small of his back, the heat at the bottom of his spine telling of a physical reaction that has no place between them.)

His forehead settles against Sebastian's lips and they're breathing hard against each other, his hands settling on Sebastian's abdomen, Sebastian's hands are still on his face, thumbs drawing circles high on his cheekbones. It's the first time he becomes truly aware how physical a guy Sebastian is, that beyond his best friend Sebastian is a real guy with sexual desires like him, a body that takes and gives things, capable of reactions like his own.

And it's really wrong for that thought to turn him on.

Sebastian pushes a kiss to his forehead, bringing him back to the best friend who only did as he was asked. He's not sure it worked, his chest still feels like it's been split open, bleeding out for everyone to see.

"I'm okay," he says, willing his desperation gone once Sebastian pulls away completely. There's a part of him that wishes they were young boys again, that Sebastian could be the one to crawl into his bed now and watch over his bad dreams, be there in the morning to sneak a Gameboy underneath the sheets, turn the sound off so his parents don't wake and take turns jumping on the heads of little mushroom men.

But they're not boys anymore.

"You're not okay," Sebastian says, his arms around him again and he buries his face where his tears had left stains earlier. Sebastian holds him, right there, until his parents come home.

* * *

#

**if you can, please let me know what you think!**


	2. Chapter 2

**BLOW ME (ONE LAST KISS)**

**part two**

* * *

The kiss means nothing.

And it's fine because the kiss touches something meaningful instead–it makes him see how much he still wants; a boyfriend, sex that meant something, cuddles and kisses and breakfast in bed and somewhere beyond that material things like a college degree, a first menial job, his first proper car, a place of his own and underneath that he'll agree he desires a first one night stand with a guy whose name he doesn't know, a broken heart that might make him forsake these thoughts he had at twenty but he'd be_ living_ something worth staying alive for. And Karofsky should have been allowed to feel it too.

The kiss means nothing.

And it means absolutely everything.

.

(He never mentions it. It was one kiss to bring Blaine back to his senses, to the overall realization that he can't let this incident stop him short. If anything they should be living bigger, louder, harder, so that they can square Karofsky's death away as something horrible that happened to them, but put things in perspective. They won't let anyone get them down, not their parents, not hypocrites or bullies, not homophobes or politicians, because they're here and they are going to love whoever the hell they want to love.

Blaine finds his way back because he can't keep wallowing in something he can't change. Soon they're laughing and joking again and go back to college life, friends and parties and stupid pranks, never once forgetting what Karofsky meant to them, who he was, and what a great brother he strived to be.

He still watches Blaine closely. Sometimes he'll notice a faltering in his smile when he's flirting with a guy at the bar, the tiniest flicker of pain in his eyes and Blaine won't go home with anyone anymore. It'll take time for Blaine to trust his instincts again, but when he sees it happen all he wants to do is gather Blaine up in his arms, sleep next to him when he has bad dreams, all to make sure Blaine knows that what happened to Karofsky will never happen to him. Because he'll always be there.

He's made himself not feel it, anything to forget how it could have been Blaine or him if they didn't have each other, anything to shake the distressing feeling that somehow he should've known what Karofsky was struggling with. Blaine likes to think him stronger than this, but without Blaine he'd be in shreds too.

"What's wrong?" he asks one Friday morning over coffee, right after Blaine's grabbed his organizer and ran through his schedule for the day, his face going blank.

"Today would've been Dave's first game," Blaine answers, eyes downcast, voice small, and it still stabs at him how Blaine's started calling him Dave instead of Karofsky.

He tries to swallow around the lump in his throat that's been there since he figured out the same last night, hoping to avoid the topic today. He stays quiet, as does Blaine, and their usual routine remains mournfully silent.

They watch the game at Blaine's that night, sitting on opposite ends of the couch, Thad and Nick and Rich between them.)

.

More than anything he's lonely, he misses Karofsky and his shenanigans, especially on the days he used to spend tutoring him.

.

(He grows more generous with his kisses; at dinner sometimes he'll lean in and press a kiss to Blaine's cheek, just shy of his lips. Blaine will turn into it and blush, and it's worth it just for that, but then he'll look over at Blaine's father, proverbial steam coming out of his ears, and that makes him decide he should do it more often.

Blaine decides the same when one time they're saying their goodbyes and his parents are watching, he reaches up for his face and pulls him down for a chaste kiss to the lips.

They have a good laugh about it the next day, especially when Blaine says how smitten his mother had looked.)

.

Sebastian's kind of impossible, but he wouldn't have him any other way.

.

(Until that too changes.

He should know better than to leave Blaine in Rich's care when there's an ample supply of alcohol available. He'd trusted Blaine to know his own boundaries tonight because he had a test to cram for and couldn't supervise, but this is decidedly one area in his life where Blaine manages zero self control. So he's not surprised to find his best friend on the dance floor, dancing with three girls no less, two blondes and a brunette.

"You know, I trust you guys to look out for him when I'm not here," he tells Nick, whose tongue's busy exploring Jeff's mouth. As expected, he gets little reaction out of either boy.

He slaps Nick on the head.

"Hmm?" Nick asks, barely shaken, and stares up at him with those hazy heart-eyes that have been his companions since he started dating Jeff. "What's going on?"

He shakes his head, but smiles. "Nothing, loverboy. Forget I spoke," he says, Nick and Jeff eagerly redirecting their attention to each other.

Rich is lucky he's nowhere in sight, because he shouldn't leave Blaine alone like this. He'd made it clear that Blaine was still fragile after Karofsky's suicide, and he'd hoped that would be clue enough. Of course, dancing with a bunch of girls seems harmless enough. He smiles, watching Blaine getting his ass grabbed by a daring brunette, and Blaine shamelessly encouraging her.

This isn't the first time this has happened, Blaine didn't scream gay and combined with his lack of inhibition when he was drunk, well, it's led to misunderstandings in the past.

"Having fun, are we, killer?" he asks, Blaine turning to him with a smile. He holds out a hand, which Blaine takes right away.

"Hey!" one of the blondes complains.

"Sorry, ladies." He grins, moving between Blaine and the girls. "But he's not on your team."

And it's almost sad how the three beautiful faces fall at the same time over that announcement, only made worse when Blaine winds his arms around his torso, pulling him closer, hips swaying. Blaine's dance partners slink off, retreating to the sidelines.

"And here I thought we entered this arrangement so I'd have a designated driver," he jokes. Blaine hums, eyes closed. "Haven't we talked about this? No alcohol for you."

"I like alcohol," Blaine muses.

He chuckles. "I'm sure you do."

Blaine grabs his hands and pulls them around his waist. "Dance with me."

"Sorry, sweetheart," he says. "I'm only here to pick you up. We both have class in the morning."

Blaine opens his eyes, shining to the point of impossible, but doesn't utter any complaint. He takes Blaine by the hand and pulls, making a quick detour for his jacket and paying his share of the drinks. They head for his car, where Blaine gets redirected to the back; he's never actually thrown up, but he's not about to take that chance.

He manhandles Blaine into the backseat, childishly getting pulled along.

"And now what, killer?" he asks, raised on his arms above Blaine. The lights in Blaine's eyes are swimming, and he can't be too mad at Rich for loosening Blaine up tonight. "Who's going to drive us home?"

Blaine pats his cheek. "You're a good boyfriend."

He laughs, staring down at his best friend. "And don't you forget it."

He shifts to crawl back out of the car, but then Blaine's hands are on his face, pulling him down, lips finding his easily despite the state he's in and it's different than it was before. Last time Blaine stood broken in front of him, begging him for meaning, now he's a drunken mess of a boy who still manages to kiss him without getting sloppy. Blaine's tongue darts out and he sinks into it willfully, the taste of alcohol in Blaine's mouth not enough to stop him.

He licks into Blaine's mouth and moans, Blaine's full lips closing around his tongue and sucking hard.

Blaine raises a knee, grazing his side and this time he fails to control his reaction because the moment Blaine's leg curls around his waist and forces him down, he feels the outline of Blaine's cock pressing up against his lower abdomen, the layers of fabric separating them unable to disguise that Blaine's hard.

Heat rushes down his spine and all rational thoughts leaves him. He doesn't think about how Blaine's his best friend and he might be too drunk to realize what he's doing, how they're crossing a line they shouldn't. All he knows is that Blaine's hips buck up, rutting up against him in short shallow bursts and he grows hard too, spiralling fast. He stops trying to fight it; he settles down between Blaine's legs, groin against his, their cocks trapped together between their bodies.

And it shouldn't feel this good.

Blaine releases his lips in a whine, despairing at the sudden lack of friction.

"Let me," he breathes, trailing kisses down Blaine's cheek, dragging his hips over Blaine's, letting the pressure build so slow he's going out of his mind. He buries his face in the crook of Blaine's neck, focusing on the seductive back and forth of their bodies.

"Sebastian," Blaine whispers, one hand fisting his hair, the other molesting his shirt between his shoulderblades. "More."

"I can't–" He can't get enough friction like this, there's too much restrictive fabric separating their erections and neither of them will get off like this. "Jesus, Blaine," he wails because he needs it now, he needs to see this through, needs release as much as Blaine does.

He reaches down and unbuttons his pants, pulls the zipper down haphazardly, skimming the offending article of clothing down his hips. And then he does the same with Blaine's, only Blaine doesn't stop to wait until his pants are down to his knees, as soon as his cock is freed he grabs at his hips and forces them down onto him again, searching for the tight heat between them.

He rubs against Blaine, the length of his cock twitching against Blaine's, his toes curling in his shoes. He reaches down inside Blaine's boxers, fingers digging into his ass, angling his hips to create the maximum amount of contact.

"Don't stop," Blaine begs, arms tightening around him, their chests pressed together, hips looking for any movement they can find. "Sebastian, please, don't stop, I'm so close."

And he's defenceless against Blaine's breathy requests, he's gone, lost in the steady push-pull of their hips moving together, he's so hard and close too and there's no other way out but to see this through.

Blaine comes with a strangled cry, shaking hard against him, come staining his boxers a darker blue. He follows close after, shivering when his orgasm cascades through him, feet pushing the car door back open once he goes completely limp on top of Blaine.

Blaine cards a hand through his hair, the other falling away. They're both breathing hard, the cool night air slowly making its way up their bodies. Blaine could pass out any minute, his breathing evening out, body going silent underneath him.

He disentangles from Blaine's hold and raises himself on his arms. Blaine's eyes are closed and he's humming peacefully, so he doesn't say a word. He tugs Blaine's pants up his hips again as best he can, getting a playful swat at his arm in return. "Stop it," Blaine groans in protest, and turns on his side.

His legs are shaky once he's finally standing upright again, knocked out of balance by sexual release and the dark truth that he had sex with his best friend in the backseat of his car. And he hadn't even stopped to think twice. Blaine's drunk and he can't be held accountable for his actions when he's like this so this is all on him. He should've rebutted Blaine's advances.

He doesn't feel guilty, not nearly as guilty as he ought to, because part of him thinks he took advantage of Blaine. He didn't force Blaine, he'd never do that to anyone, but maybe he should've protested, checked to see if Blaine was in any state to make this decision. Because this can't be undone.

The hardest part is that he can't drive Blaine home. They made a promise in high school to take care of each other when they were drunk and their parents couldn't see them under any circumstances. It was a very serious pact, made after the first time Blaine got drunk out of his mind in someone's basement and he got banned from hanging out with him for an entire week. Neither of them is twenty-one yet, so whenever either of them was drunk they hid the other away. They'd gotten quite skilled at covering for each other.

Only now it's more than that, now he'll have to face a hungover Blaine tomorrow wearing boxers raw with come and what will Blaine think of him?

His leg shakes against the brake pedal as he parks the car, and it's only Blaine's groan that shakes him from his stupor. He gets out of the car, now faced with the problematic task of getting Blaine upstairs while he's only half-conscious.

"Blaine," he calls, hovering over him again, but Blaine only stirs for a second. He shakes Blaine's shoulder. "B, come on," he insists, not up for any lengthy discussion of why he had to move, and pulls Blaine into a sitting position, guiding him out of the car as delicately as he possibly can.

"Hmpff," Blaine complains, but somehow manages to find his footing. "I hate you."

"You can't sleep in the car," he says, pulling one of Blaine's arms around his neck, reaching around Blaine's waist to keep him steady.

He drops Blaine on his bed as soon as he makes it into his dorm room and by the time he's closed the door and turned around again, Blaine has curled up in a fetal position and fallen asleep on top of the sheets, his arms tucked under his head. He takes a deep breath, grabbing the blanket from the end of the bed and draping it over his best friend.

He draws a hand over his face. What the hell are they going to do?

Did it have to mean something? Could it be categorized alongside that kiss a few weeks ago, a way to get from each other what they couldn't momentarily get from anyone else?

He doesn't know.

He takes a shower to wash away the evidence of what happened, clothes thrown half assed into the hamper in the bathroom, the water failing to unknot the tension in his chest. Blaine had said no strings, no nothing, he merely wanted to feel like somewhere somehow the world still held meaning. But he's not sure a drunk foray getting each other off was included in that request.

Still, they can't go back. The only thing they can do is ignore it and file it as something that happened. It might not be the healthiest approach, but it's the best thing for them to do if they don't want things to get awkward.

He sleeps on the pull-out, his phone tucked close to him so he can make it to class on time in the morning–he falls into a restless slumber, waking every so often to Blaine's soft snoring, idly wondering if Blaine will remember anything at all. He's not sure what he's hoping for.

He wakes up to an empty bed, an empty room, the blanket that had kept Blaine warm all night thrown over his legs.

Blaine's gone and he's not sure how he feels about that.)

.

He takes the bus home.

He doesn't have the heart to wake Sebastian up to drive him home and he needs a change of clothes before heading to class. Normally he'd shower in Sebastian's dorm and borrow one of his boxers, making due with the clothes he wore last night, but they don't feel right. His boxers are a mess and he has a headache, and he's ashamed of how relaxed his body feels. All because of Sebastian.

He can't say what made him do it, despite being drunk he was still capable of making clear decisions, he just doesn't think about them as much as he normally does. That's what he likes about being drunk, getting out of his head for a while, stop worrying about every little detail and let go.

Only now he's fooled around with his best friend and he's not sure it meant nothing. Because it felt good, having that extra layer of Sebastian peeled back and feel his breath hot against his neck, the palm of his hand kneading at his ass, the heady scent of their bodies moving together–and then falling apart underneath him. Maybe it's wrong for the memories to turn him on the way they do, but it's there all the same.

He doesn't remember much of what happened after that, but at least Sebastian hadn't left him in the car.

What is he going to do? This wouldn't have happened if he hadn't asked Sebastian to kiss him, he would have had no reason to fantasize about Sebastian's lips on his again. But somewhere last night he'd become acutely aware of Sebastian's body above him and he'd taken what he wanted. He felt lonely and alone and wanted something only Sebastian could give him. Like the night of Dave's funeral.

And Sebastian hadn't hesitated.

He rubs at his face, taking out his house keys. He doesn't normally face his parents so soon after a hangover, but he can't talk to Sebastian yet.

"Blaine, honey?" he hears his mom's voice coming from the kitchen as soon as he enters the house. Sometimes he'd swear she has super hearing.

He rushes up the stairs as fast and quietly as possible, that wretched fifth step from the top creaking once he hits it. "Blaine, is that you?" his father's voice sounds much closer and he freezes.

He turns around, his father standing at the bottom of the steps. "Were you out all night?"

"Yeah, dad." He sighs. He probably looks a mess. "Like I have before."

"Were you drinking?"

He takes a deep breath. "Yes."

And he can see how his father judges him, even if the ruling emotion seems to be worry right now. He'd gotten more leeway after Dave's death and he hates how it took something that horrible to knock some sense into his parents. But he'd accepted it all the same.

His father eyes him head to toe. "Don't let your mom see you," he says, and disappears into the living room.

He doesn't stick around to hear it a second time.

He takes his time in the shower, using more soap than he needs to, but he's washing off more than dried come and sweat. He's washing off the smell of sin, of guilt, or shame even, because he'd taken advantage of his best friend. And why? Because he'd felt lonely. And Sebastian had been there like he was always there, taking care of him, making sure he got home okay, and now apparently getting him off too.

He whines and settles his forehead against the tiles, letting the water unspool him until it goes cold.

How are they ever going to come back from this?

He can't focus on anything all morning, not his mother's voice at breakfast or his classes, not even when his favorite professor calls on him and for the first time all year he has to ask him to repeat the question. His thoughts are preoccupied by evaluating his friendship with Sebastian, something he never thought he'd be forced to do–he can't lose the most important person in his life over his loneliness.

He can't figure out what changed besides them kissing; he'd picked up four different guys in the months before without entertaining the thought of doing the same to Sebastian. But then Dave had killed himself and–he felt guilty, guilty that he hadn't seen it, wondering if Dave had ever tried to tell him, afraid that somehow he'd been responsible for his death too.

There had to be a reason why Dave had kept it a secret.

And who could understand that part of him better, who knew all his insecurities and fears, knew about all the nights he cried himself to sleep at night, if not Sebastian?

Only he's not sure how to talk to Sebastian right now.

He meets up with Quinn for lunch, reluctant to cancel his plans only because he's freaking out, and he figures Quinn might be able to help. At the very least he can get his story out, lay it all out for someone else so that maybe he can make sense of it.

"So wait," Quinn says. "You had–"

"Yes," he croaks. "I had sex with Sebastian in the backseat of his car."

"And you're asking for my advice?"

"I can't–talk to him," he says. "I can talk to him about other guys, but now it's–us." And he should feel a bigger mess than this, his heart should be beating faster out of fear of losing his best friend, losing something he's had his entire life. Where would he be without Sebastian?

"Do you have romantic feelings for him?"

"No," he answers, because he loves Sebastian with all his heart, but those feelings involved paintball games and sleepovers, game nights and running around in handmade capes. "I was drunk and he's–"

"He's what?" Quinn asks.

And then it hits him: Sebastian is his _best friend_. They've seen each other in the most embarrassing positions imaginable, from wetting the bed to catching each other with their hands down someone's pants, and now he's ashamed Sebastian witnessed his loneliness? That isn't something he should feel ashamed to express to Sebastian. Granted, he could've picked some other way to show him, but all he needs to do is explain and Sebastian will understand.

"He's Sebastian," he says. "We've known each other since we were in diapers."

Quinn stares at him, unblinking. "It didn't mean anything," he says.

"I'm not judging." Quinn shrugs. "God knows I've experimented, but Sebastian's your best friend."

Yes, Sebastian's his best friend. He'll understand.

And maybe he already does, because that same night he's spooked by a sudden "Anderson!" resounding through the house. Sebastian's voice. His heart skips a beat only he's not sure why, because he'd resolved that this wouldn't be awkward, he wouldn't allow it, they were friends who gave each other something they wanted. Nothing more.

But Sebastian pushes through his bedroom door and he can't think of a word to say anymore. So he drawls out a long "Hey" while turning in his chair.

Sebastian looks him up and down. "You're not ready?"

He frowns, thrown off by the question. "What for?" he asks, and actively takes in Sebastian's outfit: dress pants under a white button-down, a dark jacket pulling off a casual chic.

"Rachel's showcase," Sebastian answers.

His heart drops. "Oh shit," he says and jumps up from his chair, running for his closet. How did he forget about Rachel's showcase? It's all she's been talking about for weeks and he'd promised her every single time that he and Sebastian would be there to cheer her on. If he hadn't been so preoccupied with his own problems he wouldn't be rooting around his closet right now for an appropriate outfit.

"She'll have our asses if we don't show up."

"Five minutes!" he shouts, slowing down enough to make sure his jacket matches the color of his pants.

"_Five_?"

He halts in front of the bathroom door. "Okay, maybe more like ten," he says, rushing into the bathroom, grabbing for his toothbrush.

"You can cut that down if you lose the hair gel!" Sebastian calls out.

He chuckles.

Just like that, they're back to being bros.

.

Until it happens again.

They're at a club opening Wes gets them access to – he's an alum but still helps his brothers out – and the place is filled to capacity within twenty minutes. Sebastian keeps him close because they've already had to re-locate some of the others through text message, and Sebastian claims he doesn't want his ass to get any attention he doesn't ask for.

"I can take care of my own ass!" he manages to shout over the bass of the music. "I'm fine! Go dance!" he insists, all too aware that Sebastian's been dying to go out there. He can't deny it's nice to have Sebastian look out for him, he's only been groped once so far, but Sebastian's been propositioned three times already despite having him on his arm and the music is amazing.

"Are you sure?" Sebastian asks, standing close.

He gives Sebastian a thumbs up and Sebastian smiles, leaving his beer on the bar, dancing his way into the crowd, which swallows him whole immediately. He laughs and shakes his head, eyes searching for Sebastian over and over again.

There's a part of Sebastian that lives for this, he understands that very well, the ebb and flow of bodies moving to the beat, a new pulse coursing through his veins, it's how Sebastian loses himself to random strangers at Scandals, cuts right down to a physical connection because that's all that he cares about, or because he doesn't need alcohol to stop thinking. Places like this are a drug to Sebastian.

And he gets it, he really does, especially tonight, alcohol buzzing at the edges of him, watching Sebastian skim his hands over strangers' bodies–it's allowed, it's an unspoken rule when you approach each other here and right now all it makes him think about is what Sebastian's hands would feel like on him, how hot his body would feel through that single layer of shirt, how his–

(He catches Blaine's eyes through the crowd, and it only takes a blink before Blaine's moving towards him, weaving his way through the crowd.

"Beat it," he tells his latest dance partner and he's not too concerned with whether or not he heard it, because he pushes the body away from him as Blaine comes closer. A rush runs through him, both excitement and fear with a twinge of guilt. Blaine looks hot, hair ungelled at his request, a simple t-shirt over some jeans, a light sheen of sweat covering his skin.

And then Blaine's right in front of him, his physical presence adding a pressure in the tight space between them, only he's not sure if it's the smoke or the packed room or his chest acting funny for some reason. One of Blaine's hands lands on his shoulder and pulls him closer, his own hands digging in around Blaine's waist. Blaine grows taller, or maybe he meets him halfway, but their foreheads touch, they're dancing nose to nose, breaths mingling, hands taking leave to touch, and everything changes.

Blaine isn't some random boy seducing him in a crowd, this is a boy he knows in every way but physically and this strong voice in his head shouldn't be screaming for him to cross the line again. They turned it around last time, went back to being friends despite their little foray into something different.

What makes him or Blaine think they can do that again?

But one look into Blaine's eyes, one moment of misguided rebellion has him reaching down around Blaine's ass and Blaine startles, falling forward against his chest, not nearly shocked enough to convince him he's not thinking the exact same thing.

And then it hits him, it was a distracted thought earlier but it echoes clear now: Blaine's_ seducing_ him.

Blaine winds his arms around his neck and pulls him in, their lips meeting in an intake of breath. There's nothing polite about it, Blaine opens his mouth for him and he licks inside, Blaine's hands fisting his hair and a more sensible instinct almost pushes Blaine back, his hands firmly on Blaine's abdomen. But Blaine bats his hands out of the way, settling his body against him and he stops struggling deadcold–Blaine's hard-on presses against his leg.

What follows he's only recently started fantasizing about, when he's in the shower or lying awake in bed and his hand travels down his body. It never fills him with quite enough shame to not see it through.

They find their way through the crowd while attempting not to lose track of each other's lips. He doesn't care who sees, they're meant to be boyfriends anyway.

He stumbles backwards into a stall in the restroom, Blaine taking complete control when he's shoved back hard against the wall, a hand pulling at his shirt so hard he's afraid it might tear. He's vaguely aware of the doors outside opening and closing, but he can't care about much of anything beyond Blaine's tongue and his cock growing harder with every second that passes.

They're moaning and sucking at each other's lips, a merciless struggle, until Blaine pulls back to catch his breath.

"You okay?" he asks, because he doesn't want to assume that they'll end up getting each other off again, Blaine's more here than he is right now, and he'll stop if Blaine wants to.

But Blaine nods absentmindedly, becoming wholly preoccupied with undoing his belt, unbuttoning his pants and pulling the zipper down.

And then Blaine drops to his knees.

"Blaine–" he starts in protest, not sure what he'd actually say should Blaine pause, but Blaine pulls his pants down to his ankles, boxers following, his lips parting as his eyes fix on his erection. He reaches a hand down and thumbs at Blaine's cheekbone, forcing him to look up. Blaine's eyes are darker than he's ever seen them, lips a swollen mess.

Blaine twists his face into the palm of his hand and presses a kiss to his skin, one of his hands curling around the base of his cock. His heartbeat skyrockets, but he can't tear his eyes away as Blaine leans forward, tongue darting out to lick at his tip, lips nipping at the head of his cock before taking him into his mouth.

"Oh fuck," he gasps, head falling back against the wall. Blaine's mouth closes over his cock, breathing in sharply through his nose, sucking his way up to his head again. He groans shamefully loud. He's never thought of Blaine's mouth like this. How did he not know this, how have they never_ tried_ this? If all it means is to keep Blaine from feeling lonely, then why not do this more often?

"Blaine," he breathes in a short burst, tempted to repeat his name over and over again. Instead he digs a hand in Blaine's curls, the same dark curls he's touched before but never like this, thick and sweaty between his fingers. He fucks his hips forward and Blaine accounts for the sudden movement, relaxing his throat, his other hand moving to steady his hips.

"I'm sorry," he croaks, voice breaking, his free hand grappling helplessly at the tiled wall, nails digging in the grout while he tries to stop his hips from bucking. Blaine lowers his hand again and he hears the distinct clang of Blaine's belt being undone.

"_Blaine_." His fingers strain in Blaine's hair, a steady pressure building in his groin. "I'm gonna–"

Blaine only responds by humming around him and fondling his balls, a moan and when he looks down he sees Blaine's fisting his cock in long hard strokes, trying to get off too. No, he's never thought of Blaine like this, but the sight of Blaine jerking off, his other hand twisting around his cock and his mouth hot on him unravels him. He comes in Blaine's mouth, knees almost giving out, his body shaking with the intensity of his release.

He relaxes against the wall, trying to catch his breath and gather himself together, but that's almost impossible with Blaine's face pressed tight against his hipbone, shaking against him when he orgasms too, cry smothered by his skin.

Blaine breathes hard against him, teeth grazing over his groin, kissing a path down his thigh as he sits back on his heels.

His fingers draw random patterns through Blaine's hair. He can't believe they did this again, both of them sober enough to be fully aware of their choices. Maybe he'd underestimated them, maybe they were capable of tiptoeing the line between friends and something more.

He hears Blaine grab some toilet paper to clean up, then slides his boxers up his legs again, his jeans along with them. He helps Blaine stand, watching closely as Blaine zips up his jeans for him, but he doesn't look up from what his hands are doing.

A deep blush has set in Blaine's cheeks, a smile tugging at a corner of his mouth.

He reaches down and buttons Blaine's pants, neither of them saying a word, their breathing evening out slowly. He never thought Blaine had this in him; he's never thought of Blaine outside of the boundaries of their friendship, even though he's lend him his dorm room often enough to know Blaine gets around. Now there's more, more Blaine for him to know, and somehow he thinks they can do this, start something casual together. They know each other better than anyone and know what to expect. So why not?

Blaine finally looks up at him, same smile still pulling at his lips, and his own quirk too. They could do this.

He leans in and bumps his nose against Blaine's, forcing him to tilt his head back. He captures Blaine's lips in another kiss, tasting himself salty in his mouth. Blaine moans and sinks limp against him, a lazy kiss turning him dizzy all over again.

"Sebastian!" someone shouts through the restroom and the rest of the world comes crashing back. He releases Blaine's lips. "Bro, are you in here?" Thad's voice.

He stares down at Blaine, feeling a skewed sense of pride that's reflected in hazel eyes.

"Go," Blaine says softly, inaudible to anyone else. "I'll be right behind you.")

.

"And can you please make sure the drinks keep coming?" his mother urges one of the cater waiters. He sighs, staying far away from any alcohol; his father might've let him off the hook last week, but he's not about to take his chances. Besides, he's surrounded by his parents' closest friends, and he wouldn't want to do anything to embarrass them.

They do this every now and then, throw random parties at non-specific times during the year, and as the only son still living at home he's obligated to attend. It's the same story every time, making small talk with people he barely knows by name, smile and nod and pretend he's having fun. Luckily his parents' closest friends also included Sebastian's parents, so Sebastian was forced to be here too.

"You look criminal in those pants," Sebastian says, moving to stand next to him. "Sugar?"

He shrugs. "She has good taste."

Sebastian smiles. "She has a strange fascination with your ass, that's what."

He chuckles, the first to admit that Ms Motta has never passed up an opportunity to address, touch or make sure his _delicious tushie_ (her words) was clad in anything but the tightest pair of pants she could help him find. His ass was sort of the reason Sugar had tumbled into his life in the first place; he'd been shopping for some new clothes and when he'd grabbed a pair of slacks off the rack she'd squealed _put that down!_, making him jump and drop his phone on the floor.

She'd apologized once before straight out scolding him for even entertaining the thought of buying pants like those–he'd told her every college guy was in need of a fair amount of slacks, for maximum comfort during finals, for sleeping in, or spending lazy hours on the couch with boyfriends. Her lips had pressed together in a tight line, desperately trying to hide a smile, until she started jumping up and down and excitedly saying how she'd been in the market for a gay best friend.

After that she'd sort of remained a constant in his life, gaining not one, but two gay friends. Not that Sebastian would ever admit to liking Sugar.

"Speaking of your ass," Sebastian adds. "Are you as bored as I am?"

"I'm never as bored as you are," he answers automatically, and wonders what his ass has to do with this.

Sebastian takes a step closer, teasing at his personal space. "I'm going up to your room," he says. Sebastian scans the room to see if anyone's watching, then heads for the stairs, a playful glint playing in his eyes.

He blinks, feeling his lips part, going over Sebastian's implication once, twice, until he decides Sebastian did mean it to be an invitation. His heart beats fast, eyes searching the faces around him to check he hasn't turned a bright flaming red, but everyone seems to be too busy to pay him any attention. He swallows hard.

Are they going to do this again?

It's not that he doesn't want to, last time he'd caught himself by surprise when he took the initiative, and Sebastian had gone with it. They hadn't talked about it and the past week has been like any other, coffee in the morning when their schedules allowed, doing homework together, going out to a party or dinner or a movie.

Nothing at all had changed, despite everything being different.

He'd experienced a different side to Sebastian, one he's always known was there but he'd never considered properly. And they'd had fun.

So why not do it again? God knows he wants to.

He makes his way upstairs, glancing back over his shoulder to make sure no one follows, but by the time he's standing in front of his bedroom door he couldn't care less. He wants this. He takes a deep breath, his body in jitters, and pushes through the door.

The door closes again as soon as he's entered the room, and he turns to find Sebastian standing right behind him. And then they're kissing again, Sebastian guiding them to the bed, clumsily toeing out of their shoes. His legs hit the bed and Sebastian pulls back and he loves how Sebastian waits for permission, his hands on his face and his lips close, making sure this is what he wants.

"I want you naked this time, killer," Sebastian says, voice low, the nickname a different connotation for the first time ever. He's not sure if either of them remember how he'd even earned the nickname, maybe after losing his inhibitions one drunken night when they were younger, or maybe Sebastian liked how it sounded.

He lets Sebastian unbutton his shirt, pulling it free and tossing it aside, waiting for him to do the same. He pops the buttons on Sebastian's shirt fast, letting his eyes wander over every patch of skin, even though he's seen it all countless of times. Never like this though, never with heat radiating off their bodies, knowing he'll touch that skin, kiss it, that it'll touch his own soon.

Once he reaches for his pants Sebastian stops him. "Those are mine," Sebastian says, and pushes at his chest hard.

He plops back onto the bed, his breath knocked right out of him, Sebastian standing tall. Sebastian's eyes are dark, and he's never taken the time to appreciate them like this, lustful, wanting. Sebastian's never looked at him like this.

"Where do you keep your supplies?"

"Bedside–" he says, torn between staring at Sebastian and to where the lube and condoms are. "Bedside drawer."

Sebastian stalks towards the bedside table and unearths the supplies, tossing them on the bed. He can hardly believe how much he wants this, have this familiar boy undo him, make him feel something new, maybe even add a new kind of trust.

Sebastian takes off his pants, leaving his boxers on, and crawls over to him; he licks at his hipbone, lips a steady pressure at his groin, and pops the button on his pants. "Criminal," Sebastian mutters against his skin and he chuckles; he does know exactly why he keeps letting Sugar buy him these pants. Sebastian's mouth never leaves his skin as he peels off his pants and boxers, past his hips, down his legs, before they join their shirts on the floor.

"Turn over," Sebastian says, (and when Blaine does so without a second thought his lips part in a gasp. Blaine's all strong shoulders and perfect skin and the curve of his back down to his ass is flawless. He's never appreciated Blaine like this, they were only ever boys playing, and now they're falling into something new, something they've only ever had with other people.)

Sebastian kisses between his shoulderblades, tracing his tongue down his spine, his back arching so deep it almost hurts. He's fantasized about this for a while now, ever since blowing Sebastian in that restroom stall, ever since tasting him hot on his tongue he's wanted so much more, Sebastian's lips and hands everywhere. He wants more than some fooling around.

Sebastian spreads his cheeks and he flushes shamefully hot, losing his mind once Sebastian licks over his hole.

"Oh God." He shudders hard, hands clawing at the sheets. "Sebastian," he breathes, muscles stringing together throughout his body. No one's ever done this to him, laid him bare quite like this–he's never let anyone get this intimate with him. He trusts Sebastian's with so many things already, and now his body too; Sebastian knows exactly what to do, his tongue drawing circles, tip probing at his hole, thumb caressing the spot right below–the strokes drive him crazy, he's so hard and Sebastian's relentless, licking at his ass.

He loses control over his reactions. "Oh fuck, that feels good," he spouts. "Oh God, Sebastian."

Sebastian bites at his ass, thumb replacing his tongue. "You really need to quiet down, killer," Sebastian pants. "We don't want to get caught."

"Hmm," he nods, even though Sebastian can't see it, and buries his face in the sheets, hoping it'll muffle most of the noises Sebastian manages to elicit.

He hears the cap on the bottle of lube pop and he whimpers, the anticipation setting his every nerve on end. He wants this so bad, like he's been waiting for such a long time, and when Sebastian eases the first finger inside his ass he pushes back on it immediately, begging for more, relaxing around the stretch.

"So good, B," Sebastian says, straddling his thighs now and somewhere in the change of position Sebastian's managed to take off his boxers.

"_Sebastian_," he moans, failing to find a decent hold, a quivering mess on top of the sheets. Sebastian adds a second finger, a third following soon after, Sebastian's impatience his own. "Sebastian, please."

"You think we have time?" Sebastian asks, cock teasing over his hole, his fingers gone, leaving him feeling empty.

"I don't care," he gasps. He won't last long, he's too strung out from all the teasing, new sensations assaulting him, the thought of having Sebastian's cock up his ass any moment wrecking him. He raises himself on his elbows and glances over his shoulder, Sebastian putting on a condom and stroking himself a few times. "Stop teasing, Sebastian, just–fuck me."

And the sight of Sebastian leaning in, lining his cock up to his ass and then easing inside, giving him time to adjust, their combined groan and Sebastian reaching for his lips–he loses it, lets go of any apprehension and doubt, any shame or self conscious thought. Everything becomes their bodies moving together, Sebastian thrusting in and out of his ass, his back arching and his cock rubbing against the sheets.

Sweat knits together in his hairline, trickling down his temples, and he can tell Sebastian's close when he starts losing his rhythm. He fists his own cock in long strokes, fingers tightening around his tip.

They both come a few moments later, his semen splattering down on the sheets, Sebastian spilling inside him.

"Fuck," Sebastian breathes against his neck, shaking with aftershocks. "Blaine."

He works himself through his orgasm, hand stroking his cock until he goes too sensitive, and slumps down in the bed. "Not bored now, are you?" he asks, barely able to catch his breath.

Sebastian's lips quirk into a smile against his shoulder, before he pulls out and lies down next to him. They both lie there breathing hard, the silence as light as it usually feels. (He's so tempted to run his fingers down Blaine's spine, draw patterns over his sweaty skin and lie there talking nonsense until they get cold–but there's a party downstairs they're both expected to attend and their absence won't go unnoticed much longer.)

Sebastian gets up and heads for the bathroom. He hears the water running for a few minutes, until Sebastian makes his way back into his room buttnaked; he's still face down on the bed, his back finally relaxed, all the tension in his body gone. His eyes trace up Sebastian's lean body, the way he moves gracefully and without reserve–he's always liked that part of Sebastian, his confidence, his high self esteem.

Sebastian sits down on the edge of the bed, reaching for his boxers on the floor. "Comfy?" he asks, dressing in his boxers and pants again.

"Very," he mumbles, even though the come between him and the sheets has gone sticky and cold. He wants to do this again, the thought hits him, he wants to face Sebastian when he fucks him, feel Sebastian's lips around his cock, taste him on his tongue again–it should fill him with apprehension. But it doesn't.

"Blaine!" his mother's voice sounds down the hallway, effectively destroying the mood. "Are you up here?"

He groans, reluctant to move at all, but if he stays here he'll never hear the end of it. And God forbid his mother comes looking for him.

Sebastian chuckles. "Go clean up, killer," he whispers, pressing a kiss behind his ear. "I'll cover for you."

.

For all intents and purposes, it should be weird. They've been friends forever, inseparable since birth and crossing this line should feel more awkward than it does. But no matter how often it happens again, there's no more guilt, no shame, and absolutely nothing holding them back.

They've stopped pretending, even if it's just sex, but they know this new side to each other now and they never hesitate to explore it.

One time Sebastian stalks up to him in the library, they're somewhere at the back and it's late and when Sebastian's hand finds its way into his pants there's no thought directed towards stopping him. Sebastian goes down on his knees and blows him right there, volumes of Shakespeare falling to the ground in a loud bang when his body shakes against the bookcase. Sebastian makes him look somewhat decent again, kisses him senseless and leaves him to his essay, but he finds little focus after that.

They can go without for days, most of the time they're Blaine and Sebastian, best friends, members of Cronus, only pretending to date. It's not a necessity or an addiction, it's casual sex with someone they trust through and through, someone that makes them feel safe, and that's a whole lot safer than hooking up with random strangers.

The thing that changes the most is the night they head to Scandals, Saturday usually, where they end up dancing together rather than someone new and find their way into the backroom at the close of the night. Sebastian takes him back to his dorm, drunk sometimes, and everything will be rushed. Sebastian will bare his ass somewhere in the struggle of removing clothes, he'll be facing the wall and Sebastian kicks his legs apart and Sebastian's cock eases inside him, careful not to hurt him, but not careful enough that he doesn't feel it the next day.

They're rushed and stolen moments more often than not, squeezed in between school and family obligations and friends. He never stays over on nights they have sex, even though he does use the pull-out couch the way he did before; they don't do the things that boyfriends do, because they're not boyfriends. At least not in the broadest sense of the word.

He loves Sebastian, but he knows what they're doing.

.

(They don't talk about it, they never do. He thinks that's why it works.)

.

(And then Blaine decides to make them into something different.)

.

His nerves are about to blow.

All his father has done these past few weeks was drive through how important this speech was to him, how it might be the most important speech of his career–he'd been working on it for weeks now, locking himself in his office, only emerging when he thought he got the right words down, reciting it multiple times to get the cadence right.

His father is many things, he's good at his job, fair and ambitious, stern even, he doesn't smile often but it makes the times that he does seem more precious–but his father turns into a schoolboy when he has to speak in public.

It's an odd contradiction, his father being such a strict man in every aspect of his life, yet unable to control his nerves when faced with a room full of strangers or his colleagues. It was one area in which he and his father differed greatly, but it was also the reason they spent more time together whenever an event like this came up.

He practically knew the speech by heart after proofreading it so often, helping with a few rewrites, and had reached the point where he was as nervous as his father.

Seeing his father up there now no one would guess he was nervous in the first place. He gets through most of the speech without tripping up, but there's a particular tough part coming up his father kept stuttering over at home–he's been biting the nail of his thumb for twenty minutes straight now and any moment he'll draw blood.

And then someone's hand slides in his, fingers wriggling between his to slot them together. "What are you doing?" he whispers, unable to suppress a smile. He's still focused on his father at the front of the room, but Sebastian's an easy distraction; his shoulders relax and he stops biting his finger, grabbing a tighter hold of Sebastian's hand.

"We're boyfriends, Anderson," Sebastian answers. "I'm holding your hand."

He smiles up at Sebastian.

His father finishes his speech with an inside joke and receives a standing ovation; he barely cracks a smile but he knows his father well enough to know he's pleased. He doesn't clap because he doesn't want to let go of Sebastian's hand, but a sense of pride spreads through him. Deep down he feels like this is his victory as well.

"I'll get us some drinks," Sebastian says and releases his hand. He takes his time to appreciate how Sebastian weaves through the crowd with the ease of a dancer. But before Sebastian makes it to a waiter his mother pulls him aside for a conversation; Sebastian mouths a 'sorry' at him, knowing he'll probably be occupied for a while.

He heads for the foyer, hoping to steer clear of any awkward conversations.

"Blaine."

He turns towards his father's voice.

"Dad!" he exclaims, walking over excitedly. "You were great up there, you didn't–"

"What were you thinking inviting Sebastian?" his father cuts him short. His heart drops to his stomach. "I put up with this because that boy is like a son to me and he seems to make you happy. But I work with these people, Blaine."

He searches his father's face for any sign of regret, hesitation, anything that doesn't completely negate the time they'd spent bonding over this project together.

"I expect you to behave," his father adds.

"Behave?" he asks, but his father's already turning away from him. "Dad–" he calls, his voice too small to accomplish much of anything, his heart arming against the cold hard truth that his father will never accept the most important part of him.

Another pair of footsteps resounds in the foyer and he doesn't need to look up to know who it is. As soon as he catches Sebastian's eyes he turns his back.

"Blaine."

"Don't," he says, left wide open and bleeding all over again.

He hears Sebastian come closer, until he's standing behind him. "You can't let him get to you like that."

"Like what?" he asks. "Like he's my father and his opinion matters to me?"

One of Sebastian's hands curls around his shoulder. "Like his opinion invalidates everything you feel and believe in."

He closes his eyes and tries to let it be enough, Sebastian as the best friend who knows and understands him and his dad as someone who simply abides his sexuality because he's made it clear it won't change. But– "He's my dad, Sebastian."

"And you're his _son_, Blaine," Sebastian insists. "Who happens to be attracted to guys. That shouldn't change anything."

But Sebastian's father would react the same way, they're in the exact same mess and yes, they have each other, but he still feels this too strongly. Sebastian's father isn't around enough to be disappointed in him, and all that matters to Sebastian is his mother's opinion, but either way Sebastian's always dealt with this easier. Sebastian's right, his sexuality shouldn't change anything, but he craves his father's approval more than anything else and it takes so little for his father to tear him down.

At least his father can tell Sebastian makes him happy.

"Blaine, honey," his mother's voice cuts through the hallway. "You're missing the performance."

"Sorry, mom," he says, and makes a move to follow, only Sebastian pushes in tighter, stopping him short.

"Let's get out of here," Sebastian says, lowering his lips to his ear.

"I can't just–" he means to protest, but then Sebastian's hand slides down over the swell of his ass, grabbing at him possessively, and he loses most of his conviction. "Where?" he asks.

"My dorm room," Sebastian answers. "I want to see you ride my cock."

His mouth goes dry, Sebastian's suggestion too tempting to resist. He shouldn't leave so soon after his father's speech, he has responsibilities and he's meant to_ behave_. But hasn't he done his duty? Hasn't he been the good son who does everything his parents ask him to?

"What do you say, Anderson?" Sebastian whispers, his other arm creeping around his waist, coming to rest on his abdomen. "Ready to live a little?"

He sinks back against Sebastian, revelling in the solid feel of him and yes, when he's with Sebastian he's alive, he lives louder, harder, more than he ever thought himself capable of. They were always more than friends, on some level they were two halves of the same whole because one without the other didn't work. He was nothing without Sebastian and Sebastian was nothing without him–they're soulmates, that's how they manage to make this work.

They stagger outside a few minutes later.

Sebastian makes him forget. With the touch of his lips, the slide of his hand down his torso, his tongue teasing around his nipples, a fist twisting around his cock, Sebastian chases the pain away, the loneliness, Dave's face and his father's discontent. Sebastian grabs at his hips and pulls him down onto his hard-on, hitting his prostate over and over again, he curses under his breath and tenses in all the right places, he kisses away the staunch conviction that nothing will ever change in his favor and that life at large will remain scary.

By the time he crashes down on Sebastian's chest, sweaty and sated, the rest of the world has disappeared, his problems distant memories, and for some time while he catches his breath, Sebastian means everything to him. Sebastian's his world.

Sebastian makes him happy.

The next morning he wakes up in Sebastian's bed for the first time; up until now they've had this unspoken rule that casual sex required a certain level of intimacy, but it didn't need to be more than that–they didn't have lengthy make-out or cuddle sessions like boyfriends have. It was sex, nothing more and nothing less.

He blinks a few times, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Sebastian still fast asleep next to him.

Their legs are tangled because the bed's too small for them to take up much individual space, and they're huddled close together under the duvet.

He can't count all the times he's woken up next to Sebastian like this when they were younger, their youth making it acceptable for them to sleep in the same bed. Now here they are again. It's different this time around, of course, but it's as comfortable and comforting as he remembers. Sebastian's always been close. He can't imagine life without him.

It's hard to resist the urge to reach out and touch, cuddle a little closer and snooze for another hour or so, but they've avoided that up until now and he doesn't want to be the first one to break their rule. This feels nice though, the intimacy, the thought that Sebastian makes him feel safe in a world that isn't kind, makes him feel loved whenever someone else doesn't, knows when to say or do the right things.

Sebastian hums and shifts closer.

His heart feels bigger than it has before, too big for his chest to hold, and somewhere deep down he thinks maybe they found something real, something that can only grow stronger the way their friendship had their entire lives.

Maybe they really can be boyfriends.

(When he wakes up he's surprised to find Blaine gone. They'd never let their nights together get too intimate, someone inevitably ended up sneaking out, but last night had been different. He could've strangled Blaine's father for talking to him the way he did, dragging Blaine down to that same place, the reason why they'd started pretending–people kept doing this to him, so much so that Karofsky's death had broken him. Blaine hasn't been the same, hasn't allowed a great many people inside besides him and that wasn't like him. He'd stopped picking up guys, stopped flirting, contenting himself with college and friends and him. Not that life was only ever about hooking up, but the change in Blaine was palpable.

How could he be the only one to see it?

There's a knock at the door, and he smiles. He drags himself out of bed, throwing on his boxers.

"Change your mind, killer?" he asks, but as he opens the door he's greeted by a whiff of blond hair covered in a beanie, blue eyes and an impressive set of biceps.

"Sorry, love, wrong boyfriend," Adam says.

He settles against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest.

A smile curls around Adam's mouth. "Happy to see me?"

"Always." He smiles, letting Adam push past him into his dorm. He closes the door, letting his eyes wander to Adam's ass. "What brings you to my side of the world?" he asks, even though he'd never needed a reason to let Adam in.

Adam's two years older than him, a globetrotter, never staying in one place for too long. Adam's constant need to be on the move was half the reason they broke up; he didn't like being tied down to one place, let alone one person, and hadn't hesitated to pack up his bags once they both figured out they wouldn't work.

"Oh, it's your side now, is it?" Adam laughs, dumping his bag on the floor. The only thing he had ever missed about Adam was the sex, and that feeling turned out to be mutual, so whenever Adam travelled to New York he dropped by for a good time. That's how they worked.

"My stepbrother's getting married," Adam explains. "I'll only be here for a few days."

Adam takes in the room, the sheets on the bed a tousled mess.

"Have you got someone in here?"

He grabs a shirt from his dresser. "Not anymore."

"Would you mind if I crash here?" Adam asks, walking over to him. "I'm kind of tight on money and I'd rather not stay with my stepfather all weekend."

And he does wonder why Adam feels forced to use that puppy-dog pout on him, because when has he ever said no to Adam?

"Sure," he says.)

* * *

#

**if you can, please let me know what you think!**


	3. Chapter 3

**BLOW ME (ONE LAST KISS)**

**part three**

* * *

_Running late. _

_Bring me some coffee?_

_S._

He smiles down at the text on his phone. It isn't the first time Professor Miles' extra maths class has made Sebastian late–many of the other students suspect he schedules them so early to weed out the slackers and heavy partiers, but for Sebastian his tardiness was more a matter of principle: he was top of his class, had aced all his tests so far, yet still couldn't catch a break.

He orders two medium drips, one with Courvoisier because Sebastian could probably use it today, and a bagel in case Sebastian gets hungry in class. As much as Sebastian takes care of him sometimes it's something he gives back whenever he can–Sebastian just needs a different kind of care, a little less hands-on and a whole lot more subtle. But that didn't mean Sebastian didn't appreciate it.

The carton holding their coffees balances precariously in one hand, the small paper bag hooked around two fingers while he tries to avoid running into anyone on the stairwell.

"Boyfriend running late again?" Nick asks him in passing.

"What would he do without me?" he calls over his shoulder, even though he'd do little without Sebastian in turn. Nick disappears into Jeff's room without another word while he rounds the corner and–he stops dead in his tracks. His face falls when he sees Adam surfacing from Sebastian's dorm room, closing the door behind him, the usual cheer in his demeanour.

Is this why Sebastian's running late? Because Adam was keeping him busy?

Was he here for the same reason he always came here? They had fun whenever Adam breezed through town, he hardly saw Sebastian when Adam was around and that was fine, but he didn't think–he hooked up with Sam and Ford and Tucker but that was before a meaningless kiss, before they started sleeping together.

Why is he feeling this so strongly?

He's not sure how his feet drag him forward, he's not even aware he knocked until Sebastian opens the door. He holds out Sebastian's coffee without thinking, without questioning Sebastian's half-naked state, but subconsciously notes there's no signs on Sebastian's body that suggests he slept with Adam. There's still a hickey he sucked into Sebastian's collarbone the night before last, but that's it.

"You're a lifesaver, killer," Sebastian says and takes hold of his coffee, stalking back into the room to get dressed. "Professor Miles will have my ass if I'm late again."

He clears his throat. "You could always forego your morning coffee," he tries to lighten the mood, while searching the room for evidence of his suspicions. Sebastian's bed has clearly been slept in, but there's a pillow and a blanket on the pull-out, Adam's bag on the floor. Sebastian's bedside drawer is closed, no used or unused condoms in sight, and no lube either.

But his heart still beats fast with uncertainty.

"Funny," he hears Sebastian call from the bathroom, the water running for a few moments. "You didn't have to sneak out yesterday, you know." Sebastian emerges again, pulling a shirt over his shoulders. "It's not like we haven't slept in the same bed before."

He blinks, refocusing on the here and now. Maybe Adam was just crashing here. "That was when we still believed in Santa Claus."

"Wait," Sebastian says, his shirt pinched between his thumbs and index fingers. "Santa's not real?"

He chuckles. "Shut up."

Sebastian smiles, but doesn't make another comment–he finishes dressing, tucking his shirt into his pants, and sits down on the bed.

"I see Adam's back in town," he tries to ask as inconspicuous as possible, leaning back against Sebastian's desk.

"Just for a few days," Sebastian answers while tying his shoes.

_It's always for a few days_, he thinks. Sebastian and Adam could've been something if it hadn't been for Adam's drive to be on the move. If it weren't for things tying him down here, Sebastian might've gone with him. He wonders if Sebastian still would after everything that happened between them.

He fiddles with one of the pens on Sebastian's desk while he finishes tying his shoelaces. "Did you love him?" he asks, even though he'd much rather ask a different question, a dangerous question, one he probably never would've considered if Adam hadn't resurfaced.

"That's a loaded question," Sebastian says, and stands up, frowning, the question apparently more difficult than even he anticipated. "We like each other more than when we were dating," Sebastian ends up saying, but he doesn't seem happy with his answer.

Sebastian walks over and leans in. "Why?" he asks, pushing a kiss just shy of his lips, and pulls back. It's more playful than intimate, like the kisses they share in front of their parents. Something curls tight in his stomach. "You jealous?"

He huffs a half-hearted chuckle, a sentiment that disappears instantly because yes, this is jealousy, and it catches him by surprise. "Did you tell him about us?"

"How we're pretending to be boyfriends?" Sebastian asks. "Of course."

_Exactly_, they've been pretending to be boyfriends with something physical on the side–it was sex, nothing more, and somehow they've managed to hold on to their friendship as well. There's no reason to be jealous.

But then Sebastian says too much: "Adam's a lot of things, but he'd never ruin a relationship."

"We're–" He doesn't know why it feels like someone punched a hole through his chest. He thought at the very least Sebastian cared, that he wouldn't get lumped in with every other one night stand, that maybe Sebastian felt it too: they could be so much more.

Sebastian turns. "What?"

"Pretending?" he asks, the wrong word, because he's known that this entire time.

"Yeah, you know," Sebastian says, loading his books in his shoulderbag. "This thing we've been doing for the past six months."

Six months, it's been six months already, three of those spent blurring the lines of a friendship they've had their entire lives. Is he about to throw that all away because Adam showed up again? But Sebastian can't be completely oblivious to this, surely he feels_ something_.

"So you told Adam that we've been hooking up too."

Sebastian shrugs. "He doesn't care about that."

"And what about you?" he blurts out. He's asking too much, it's too careless, and it threatens everything they already had. "Do you care?"

"Blaine," Sebastian says carefully, eyes settling in his, finally catching on that something serious is happening here. Sebastian's eyes narrow on his face, trying to figure out what he's thinking. "What are you doing?"

"I don't know, what am I doing?" he asks. "Because I thought we were–" He loses his breath and his nerve, a dangerous truth wringing around his heart.

Sebastian takes a step closer. "Blaine–"

"No, of course," he interrupts. "There's no need for him to know, not when he's only here for a few days. Why would you c–" his breath hitches in his throat and he staggers a step back, overwhelmed by his own reaction.

"_Fuck,_" he breathes. What is he doing? Why should this matter? He'd entertained the thought of being Sebastian's boyfriend for a moment yesterday morning, a moment of weakness, because he knows they've only been having sex. But he ends up saying none of that.

"You're the one who suggested this," Sebastian goes on the defence. "You said no strings, no nothing."

His vision blurs with tears. "So it doesn't mean anything."

They're all the wrong words, they don't match up with what he once said or what he told himself; he knew what they were getting into, their stolen moments together were attempts at forgetting, at feeling something that overshadowed everything else.

"Of course it means something," Sebastian says. "We're having fun. We're friends."

"Like you're friends with Adam."

Sebastian frowns. "Is that what this is about? Adam and I have–"

"Fun?" he provides, heart rate spiking, a voice in his head screaming for him to stop talking, to stop making this into more than it was. But it was more, it was a way to stop hurting, to find unbridled comfort in the arms of the only person who's always cared, who's always been there, who's always understood.

"Blaine, we're not–" Sebastian takes a deep breath. "–_boyfriends_."

_Stopstopstopstopstopstop,_ his heart beats in short pleas, but his mouth's moving again before he can will it down. "Then what are we doing?" he asks. "What is this, Sebastian? We're–" he shouldn't say it, he doesn't need to define it, he doesn't want to define it like this. "_Fuckbuddies_?"

"Wh–" Sebastian huffs, but seems at a loss for words. The word has landed between them in a dull thud, more truth than they both care to admit. They're_ fuckbuddies_,_ friends with benefit_s, and for the first time in his life he abhors those terms.

"Forget it," he says in a hushed breath. This isn't a conversation he wants to have. They've managed to avoid talking about it until now and this is why: their friendship is too tight, they know each other too well. He can't ask Sebastian to be this for him.

"You're right," he adds. "I'm being–that guy."

"We said–" Sebastian hesitates, (because they never said anything, did they? They don't talk about it, they never have. Maybe that's why it's falling apart. How had he missed this?

"I thought–" Blaine shakes his head.

His first instinct is still to reach out and wrap his arms around his best friend, because he's never been the cause of this, he's never hurt Blaine, never even come close. But the thought that he's doing this, that he's been too blind to stop before it was too late–this breaks his heart.

"Forget it," Blaine repeats and turns towards the door, leaving his coffee on the desk.

"Killer, please," he begs, but the door closes behind Blaine, and his feet refuse to move.

He never makes it to Professor Miles' class.)

.

("If you're here to get off I'm not in the mood," is the first thing out of Blaine's mouth when he enters his bedroom that night. A part of him wishes it could've been true, that Blaine would've forgotten, that maybe he'd made it into something because Adam was poaching on his turf and a little jealousy never hurt anyone.

But he can feel it between them now, Blaine's anger, his disappointment, his pain maybe.

"We need to talk," he says, not yet settled on what he's going to say.

Blaine sighs and slumps his shoulders, desk chair swivelling in impatient half circles.

"Was it all just sex?" Blaine's the first to speak. "I know that's–" _how it started_, he fills in the blanks. "But was there never anything more?"

"Of course it was more, Blaine. You needed–" _comfort_,_ protection_,_ me_.

"No, I didn't," Blaine says, the lie written all over his face. Blaine had needed comfort so much that he'd asked his best friend for more than he should've been able to give, protection only he could understand, a body that was only his to share. If Blaine honestly thought he took the same thing he takes from his one night stands, then what are they doing?

"You used me as much as you claim I used you, Blaine," he says, thinking Blaine selfish for the first time in his life. Blaine used him to stave off his loneliness, to wrap him up in meaning – a lie maybe – but he'd asked for it, practically begged him.

"It certainly didn't stop you," Blaine says, back still turned to him.

It's easier talking to Blaine like this–he's good with words when he needs to be, in class, in social situations, as the head of Cronus, _as Blaine's friend_. But Blaine's asking him to be more.

"Because I care about you," he says, and maybe it's a backwards logic, maybe he did take advantage, but he can't help how he interacts with people. "You were hurting and it's like I was the only one who saw. And you took something from me that I could give you. I thought we–"_ were having fun. _

Blaine turns around. "We were," he says, his eyes sad, the corners of his mouth downturned.

Why does it have to be past tense? When had they stopped having fun?

He sits down on the bed, silence falling between them again.

"All I'm asking–" Blaine says, but he hasn't asked for anything besides his care–and if Blaine doesn't know that he cares, that after all these years it's his first instinct to care, then where does he even get the idea to ask for more?

"You want something from me I can't give you." He averts his eyes, unable to consider the possibility of not pretending. He loves Blaine, he's always loved Blaine, but– "I don't know how to do this, Blaine."

It's not true, the only thing that ever holds him back is his fear of losing something dear to him, so he only goes in as far as to not push anyone away.

"And why would I be any different."

It's not a question.

"You are different."

It's not a lie.

"It's not enough." Blaine shakes his head, staring down at his hands. "Not anymore."

And this was the whole point of it, healing Blaine, getting him back out into the world, ready for a real relationship. He never thought Blaine would chose to see that in him.

"You thought it was all for show?" Blaine asks, tears in his eyes. "That I stayed with you because–"

"_Stayed_ with me?" he exclaims, and shoots up from the bed. "Blaine–"_ what are you saying?_ "This is–_" this isn't exclusive._ "This was never–"_ meant to be permanent._ This was only ever meant to help Blaine move on, to regain his trust in a cruel world, to tie him over until he found the right guy for him.

He frowns, his own reasoning leaving him with a bitter taste in his mouth.

Would he let Blaine go if he found another guy?

"How–" Blaine's voice breaks through his train of thought; the panic in Blaine's eyes punches a hole right through him. "How many were there besides me?"

He freezes, tears stinging at the corners of his eyes, but he huffs a laugh. He can't decide whether he deserves this or should expect more from his best friend. But if this is how Blaine truly sees him he shouldn't even bother asking him for anything. That's who he is, isn't it? The guy of meaningless hook-ups, one night stands, a terrible best friend.

He gets up and stalks towards the door, dejection weighing him down. This is it then, here it is. He's finally fucked up the one meaningful relationship in his life, by being too blind, by not understanding that while Blaine needed comfort they took it much too far.

"Sebastian, please–" Blaine begs, but he can't face Blaine again or address his question.

No one. The answer is no one.

The door closes behind him and it feels like it closes on more than their conversation; it feels like the end of something else altogether.)

.

(Adam's awake by the time he makes it back into his room.

He'd already showered and gotten dressed, and once it became clear that he couldn't make time go faster no matter how long he stared at his watch, he'd gone out to buy some coffee. It did nothing to calm him down, because for the first time in what seems like forever Blaine wasn't waiting, wouldn't be coming, the three days separating them weighing hard on his chest.

"Got us some coffee," he says, sitting down next to Adam once he's settled on his bed.

"Couldn't sleep?" Adam asks and kisses his shoulder.

He closes his eyes, Adam a welcome distraction.

Adam draws a finger down his spine. "Is it Blaine?"

He wonders if it's that obvious, if the chalky outlines of Blaine's absence have become apparent on his skin.

"I'm not an idiot, Bas," Adam says. "I know something's happened."

He takes a deep breath, his conversations with Blaine flooding back–they both said things they regretted, but he's not ready to face Blaine again, be accused of being a certain type of guy while he's someone else to Blaine, accusing Blaine of being selfish and a hypocrite while he gives so much. But he doesn't want to talk about it because there's a hint of truth in both statements. He's a player, and sometimes Blaine's more selfish than he is.

"We've been more than pretending," he answers.

"He finally caved for the Smythe charm, then?" Adam smiles against his skin.

He stares blankly ahead. _Has he?_

"No." Adam rears back. "It's the other way around, isn't it? You care about him."

"Of course I do." He sighs. "We've been friends forever."

He wants to ask why everyone keeps questioning that, why everyone insists on seeing him this way, but Adam's implication hits him much harder. Blaine's pretty much spelled out that he wants something more with him, maybe even wants them to try and be real boyfriends, but Adam implies it's the same for him.

"Do you think maybe you're in love with him?" Adam asks.

Is he? Is he in love with Blaine? Had their lifelong friendship somehow made it impossible for him to separate the feelings?

"I'm sorry, I forgot," Adam says when he takes too long to answer, tapping his nose. "Sebastian Smythe doesn't do feelings."

"This is why we broke up, you know," he tries to sound playful, but fails.

"What?" Adam bites at his shoulder. "Our terrible fear of commitment?"

Yes, that's why he's never started a relationship with anyone, laying himself open like that to another person sounds terrifying. But he's already done that for Blaine, he knows every inch of him, his fears and anxieties, his hopes and dreams, how he can't stand to see his mother cry when yet another man walks out of her life.

"I knew from the moment we met that boy was special to you."

"You never said anything."

"Because I wanted you to myself."

He smiles; they did have some good times together. He was fresh out of high school when they met, Adam staying with a friend in the city while he was taking a photography course. Adam's smooth accent and his relentless flirting had quickly got him noticed, and even though he wasn't looking for anything serious, they'd fallen into something steady and comfortable that lasted for a good five months. Adam's probably the only serious boyfriend he's ever had.

Until Adam left.

"And now?" he asks.

"I only want you to myself right now," Adam answers, and presses his lips against his. He leans into the strong body next to him, parting his lips, Adam's tongue licks over his bottom lip, curling to lick at his upper lip next. Adam draws closer and his lips close around his tongue, sucking hard.

It's familiar and safe and he wants it to be enough, he wants to drown in this, forget, because the thought that he's losing Blaine as more than his best friend is killing him.

But it's not the same.

He pulls back, the cinder block sitting on his chest disabling.

Adam's chin settles on his shoulder.

"You have it bad, love," Adam says, nonjudgmental, and pushes another kiss to his shoulder.

Adam gets up and stalks into the bathroom, the water in the shower running a few moments later.

He leans his elbows down on his knees, fingers digging in his hair. Does he have it bad?)

.

He drags his fork through his mashed potatoes again, pushing his peas around on his plate. Cooper and his parents are speaking excitedly about a new commercial Cooper booked and some interesting auditions that are coming up. It figures that the one week Cooper decides to visit is one where he doesn't feel up to a whole lot of brotherly activities. He loves his brother, but he's kind of high maintenance.

"It's a pity Sebastian couldn't make it tonight," his mom says, the name tuning him back into the conversation. "I'm sure he would've loved to see you."

"That's okay." Cooper shrugs. "I can go see him at school."

"I don't know," he says, staring a hole into the table. "He's pretty busy with a school project. He might not have the time." He's not ready for his parents to know, for anyone to know that he and Sebastian are fighting–they'd tell him they'd work things out,_ you're best friends after all_, that they'd move past this and find a new balance. Only he can't decide what he wants from Sebastian.

"He can make time," his mother says. "Sebastian's practically Cooper's other brother."

Cooper punches his shoulder. "More like brother-in-law now," he says, and winks at him.

He sighs.

His mother's eyes rest on him within seconds. "Honey, what's wrong?" she asks.

He drops his fork to his plate. "Nothing," he answers, a little too rude.

"You've been in a mood all week."

His eyes flicker between his mother and father. "I haven't," he says, uncertain. Had he been acting different?

"Did something happen with Sebastian?" comes his mother's next question.

He casts down his eyes. "We broke up."

And instead of sticking with "What?" his mother adds a question he can't think about: "Why?"

He pulls his napkin from his lap and tosses it on the table, getting up from his chair. "I thought he cared about me but as it turns out–" He swallows hard. "It was all pretend."

"Honey, that's not true."

It happens again, his mouth starts speaking without his brain reasoning first, and he can't hold back. "He doesn't give a shit about me," he says. "No one ever does." And he's not talking about Sebastian, it's an accusation he throws at his mother and his father right there and then. How is it possible that Sebastian's the one and only person he can think of running to? But Sebastian's not an option now and _shouldn't there be someone else_?

He has Cronus, but they're Sebastian's brothers too and the thought of making them choose, no, he can't ask them to do that.

Cronus was always more Sebastian's thing anyway.

"No one ever cares about what I feel."

"Blaine–" his father rises from his chair.

"It's fine, dad," he says. "It's nothing I'm not used to."

Hurt flashes in his father's eyes, and when he says "Son" he knows better than to keep talking. But after saying so much of the wrong thing already, why not let it all out, why not lay it down like it is, because he's feeling too much all at once and he can't stand it.

He needs Sebastian more than ever.

"You have been giving me crap_ for years_," he spits. "And I try, dad, I try so hard to be like Cooper, but there's always something I'm doing wrong." _He's never good enough._ "If I'm into cars, then I'm not playing enough sports. If I'm playing sports it's not one that's manly enough. And of course, no, I don't have a girlfriend, but that's not who I am."

The whole room has fallen silent, Cooper shrinking back, his mom dumbfounded, and his father's face only reflecting his hurt. His breathing deepens, tears stinging his eyes, but he becomes painfully lighter, less burdened by the thought that his father doesn't know how he feels.

He takes a deep breath. "And I'm done pretending," he says, turning, and walks out of the room.

His bedroom door shakes in its hinges when he slams it shut behind him. He's breathing hard and he struggles to keep his tears under control. It's getting to him in ways he never imagined, Sebastian's noticeable absence from his life, no more conversations over morning coffee, no fun and games because he'd decided to make things serious between them. This is all his fault.

He sits down on his bed, and he doesn't know how long he sits there, staring blankly ahead, before his father walks through the door. He can't meet his father's eyes, nor does he know what to say–he'd meant what he said, it's hard being his father's son, but he never meant for his father to know that.

"I know I'm hard on you," his father's voice breaks through the silence as he sits down next to him. "But it's only because I see your potential, Blaine. I don't want you to miss out because you've set your mind on one thing."

His father reaches an arm around his shoulders. "You can do anything you want."

"Not anything." He shakes his head, and he's talking about more than Sebastian. He means walking hand in hand with a boy he loves, kissing him in public, his future employers accepting that he'll bring a boyfriend to office parties instead of a girlfriend–if his own father can't give him that, what hope is there for his future?

But he understands what his dad means; he wants things for him every parent wants.

"Dad, I'm sorry," he says. "I didn't mean–"

His father squeezes his shoulder. "It's okay, Blaine," he says. "What happened?"

He releases a breath. "I made a mistake."

Another silence falls and he can't help but wonder if his father's about to give him dating advice, tell him that he needs to talk to Sebastian and get his feelings out in the open. The problem is he doesn't know what his feelings are–he could have more with Sebastian if only Sebastian let him in, or felt the same way, but he doesn't want to sacrifice their friendship to that confession.

"You know," his father says at long last, "your mom broke up with me after our third date."

"What?" he huffs, but laughs. "That's not true."

His father nods. "I was a complete mess."

"So was I, by the way," his mother's voice sounds from the doorway.

"But–why?" he asks, curious to know more, and grateful his father doesn't make him detail what happened with Sebastian. Maybe he should talk to someone, lay out all the steps that took them down this path and led to this crossroads, but he can't talk to his parents. He needs to talk to someone who understands.

"He didn't smile enough," his mother answers, walking over to sit down on his other side. "I thought he didn't like me."

It's the first time he hears the story of how his parents met and fell in love, introduced to each other by a mutual friend, how they broke up after a few dates because of some miscommunication, and it dawns on him that's exactly what happened with him and Sebastian. They never _talked_ about it, about what they were doing, where they were going, where they wanted to end up.

He might not have all the answers yet, but he should talk to Sebastian once he does.

.

(On Saturday he drops Adam off at the airport. It's the first time in the two years they've known each other that they don't part ways with a kiss or a final quickie at his dorm or even the car. They spent five entire days in each other's company and only talked, about everything, about where Adam's career is going, about college, about everything that happened with Karofsky and Blaine, about little things, about big things. About absolutely nothing. None of it fixes what was missing, in fact it underlined that Blaine was the only person in his life he'd ever opened up to, but after five days he's decided what needs to be done.

He needs to talk to Blaine.

"Thank you for letting me sleep on your sofa."

He shrugs, hands in his pockets. "Sorry for being such a bore."

"Darling, you could never bore me," Adam says, and slides a hand down his arm, pulling one of his hands free to hold. "You're going through a tough time. What kind of friend would I be if didn't understand?"

"Oh, we're friends now?" he jokes, but knows all too well they are.

Adam's eyes mellow and stare at him in earnest. "I hope we are," he says, eliminating any room for joking.

He thinks deep down he does love Adam as something more than a guy he sleeps with every now and then, they could be something if Adam stood still long enough to let it take hold. But it's still nothing compared to the love he has for Blaine.

And that's it, he's always loved Blaine, maybe that explains his lack of hesitation when Blaine asked him to kiss him, his lack of resistance when Blaine took it further, his utter lack of willpower to stop once they got started.

"Talk to him," Adam insists. "Tell him how you feel."

He takes a deep breath. "I think I'm going to miss you," he says, but what he means is _I wish you could stay_, because he doesn't want to be alone after Adam leaves. He has a Cronus meeting tonight and most of the guys know he and Blaine had a falling out, but he can't talk to any of them. Not like he can talk to Blaine.

Adam chuckles "Sap," he says, and pulls him in for a hug. He winds his arms around Adam's torso and holds him close, longer than he's ever hugged him, but Adam allows for it. It doesn't fix everything, in fact it fixes little to nothing, but it's all he has right now.

He waits until Adam disappears through the check-in gates, but can't get his feet to move. All his limbs feel heavy, weighed down by the realization that normally he'd go see Blaine now, talk about this nausea at the pit of his stomach. Blaine would say the right thing to make him feel better and they'd go right back to what they've always been.

But he guesses that what they've always been has changed too.

He goes home instead. Trent had asked him for some pictures of Blaine and him for his birthday party, after making him promise to run everything by Blaine first in case he hated their ideas; he'd told Trent that sort of defeated the point of a surprise party but Trent had refused to back down.

His mom's out in the garden, so he heads upstairs for the pictures first, knowing she'll try to keep him around to help her out with the heavy lifting and get him to have dinner with her. All of which he's happy to do, but he'd rather make sure he avoids Trent's wrath first.

His room hasn't changed much in four years. He only sleeps over some weekends and his mother still hasn't felt the need to redecorate it into her private gym or crafts room, so his cupboards are still lined with his lacrosse trophies, there's Superman memorabilia he could never part with, and he still considers the bed way too big for any kid to get for his sixth birthday.

Being here fills him with the strongest sense of nostalgia, of the memories living inside the walls and the objects surrounding him. There's a part of him that lives here, that comes back or finds strength whenever he returns. It's the same when he's around Blaine.

He unearths a box of old pictures from the bottom of his closet, filled with more memories than he can count: school trips, family picnics, away games Blaine tagged along on, family vacations where Blaine's family joined them. So many pictures, so many happy faces, and the sudden thought of losing Blaine pulls him down to the bed.

He can't lose Blaine. He won't make it without him.

"Honey?" his mother calls, and he hears her footsteps on the stairs a few seconds later. He doesn't know what to tell her. If Blaine told his parents about their fight then his mother already knows what happened as well, but he can't talk to her about this. He's never felt heartbreak, had always carefully avoided it so he didn't end up like either his parents had, alone, single, clinging onto every new person they met.

But he can't keep living this life either, from one lover to the next, one night stand after one night stand. He'd always figured sooner or later he'd find someone that would make it all make sense, that would see him naked and not judge him for taking things easy, for having fun. Someone who would understand him.

He stares down at the pictures in his hands and there's that funny feeling in his chest again, only now it's accompanied by a painful stab where his heart is. Where Blaine is.

"I thought that was you," his mother's voice sounds from the doorway now.

His breathing deepens, tears blurring his vision. The bed dip to his left, his mother's arm around his shoulders.

"What's wrong?" she asks.

He buries his face in his hands, a sob ripping through him, feeling the true consequences of his and Blaine's actions hit him, right there, in the bedroom he and Blaine had spent so much time together. They'd slept in this bed when they were younger, pretended they were Superman by leaping off the bed, landing safely on the mattress they'd stolen from his parents' bedroom. They'd grown up in each other's houses, they were a part of each other's life they both needed. They'd come out to each other, together, and everything between them had only ever felt natural.

Maybe he'd never started pretending. Maybe he was the one truly in need of healing.

He _loves_ Blaine. It's always been Blaine.

"I think I made a mistake," he cries, finding little comfort in his mother's arms.)

.

That Saturday night he decides to head out to Scandals on his own. He's not sure why, maybe he hopes to find Sebastian in the backroom with another faceless stranger, getting kissed and groped and fucking someone into the wall; maybe he hopes to find him nursing a beer at the bar like him. Most of all he wishes he could catch Sebastian's eyes across the dance floor, hips seducing him closer, pulling him into a kiss that says _I'm sorry I said anything_,_ let's forget and go back to what we were_, because he's completely lost without Sebastian.

Why did he have to go and get jealous?

He doesn't think he regrets asking Sebastian to kiss him.

He's lost track in only a few days, no morning coffee meetings where he can shed his problems, no Cronus assemblies because he didn't feel like facing Sebastian or explaining to any of his brothers–he's sure some of them had an inkling of what was going on, but he'd still rather avoid that conversation.

He's not even sure what he'd hoped to accomplish coming here except wade in his own memories, the hours spent on the dance floor with Sebastian, tongues exploring each other's mouths, hands skimming over sweaty skin, their moderately private moments in the backroom exploring each other's bodies, peeling off clothes and lips on skin–

"What's your name?" a voice sounds.

"Blaine," his lips say before he's even aware of the body standing next to him.

He turns his head to take in the guy who sits down on the next stool, eyes travelling up a tiny waist, tank-clad torso and a set of seriously impressive biceps. If not for the distinct lack of freckles he'd think it was Sebastian. He finally finds the stranger's eyes, green, above a mischievous smile.

"Hunter," the stranger says, a little shorter than Sebastian but not by much. "I've seen you here before, haven't I?" he asks. "With your boyfriend?"

He tries to place the guy's features, but he can't say they're in any way familiar to him. Then again, he never did spend much attention to anyone else when he came here with Sebastian.

He casts down his eyes. "I don't have a boyfriend," he says, the truth his painful companion.

"I guess that makes me a lucky guy." Hunter smiles. His cheeks flush hot. "Let me buy you a drink."

Hunter buys him several drinks, while he tells him about his life at college, still living at home with his parents, and whenever he hesitates on the words 'best friend' or 'Sebastian' he takes another sip from his drink. But it's nice to have someone to talk to, someone who's only now learning about his life, who is brand new to all of it and doesn't have a stake in any sort of outcome. If he and Sebastian fail to become friends again, his brothers will have to choose, things between their parents would be different. Everything would change.

Soon they're on the dance floor together and he's feeling up Hunter's arms, his scent a mix of sweat and cologne and alcohol. He's not drunk, but buzzing around the edges, enough to make him forget about Sebastian for a while and focus on Hunter's strong lean body. Maybe it's wrong, maybe it shouldn't feel this good to forget about someone so important to him, but he needs some room to breathe.

Hunter's the one who makes the first move, capturing his lips in a kiss, but he does nothing to dissuade Hunter from taking it further. He licks into Hunter's mouth before Hunter takes control again and he confuses him for Sebastian–they're not all that different physically, and if he took the time he could unearth more similarities.

But Hunter doesn't give him time. They make their way into the backroom and Hunter starts palming at his crotch, getting him harder by the second. A thick heat surrounds them and he breathes in warm air, only made headier by the pressure of bodies moving in the shadows. Hunter goes down on his knees and frees his cock, licking a long line up to the head, teasing at his slit. His head falls back against the wall and he sucks in his bottom lip to stop himself from crying nonsense.

He closes his eyes and knows it's wrong, know it's a mistake to picture someone else, to wish Hunter's lips were Sebastian's, to imagine that Adam never showed up and he wasn't forced to face his changing feelings for a boy so dear to him. In only a few moments' time Hunter's lips become Sebastian's, his mouth hot around him, the thick feel of his hair between his fingers.

It's still Sebastian when he comes in Hunter's mouth, Sebastian's name at the back of his throat, Sebastian who stands up again, Sebastian who kisses him deep, Sebastian who grabs his wrist, says "Come with me," and pulls him along.

Twenty minutes later they're on his bed in his dorm, yanking off each other's clothes, and Hunter doesn't ask for anything but his body. He's all hard edges and a little rough, his thrusts fast and relentless, face buried in the crook of his neck as the room fills up with filthy noises. He's hard again and incredibly sensitive, but Hunter feels so good, just like Sebastian, hot and solid on top of him, a sweaty mess, and he's too far gone to feel guilty.

Hunter comes deep inside of him with one final thrust and it only takes a few firm strokes of his own hand until he's coming again, all over his chest, a calm crashing through his body he was desperate for. Hunter crashes down on top of him, and he tightens his legs around his waist, fingers drawing up and down his back.

This was a bad idea, he thinks as his breathing evens out, he'd had no intention of picking anyone up tonight, or at all. He's not even entirely sure why he'd gone out in the first place.

Hunter disentangles from his arms and legs and turns his back on him, sitting up straight in the bed.

"What's wrong?" he asks, sitting up alongside Hunter.

Hunter draws a hand over his face. "I shouldn't have–" He shakes his head.

"Hey," he says softly, a hand at Hunter's back. He can't tell what Hunter's thinking, they don't know each other well enough for that and Hunter's doing everything he can not to face him.

"I need you to leave," Hunter whispers.

He blinks, but Hunter doesn't move._ Leave_? Why?

"Please, Blaine–" Hunter begs, and before he gets the chance to say anything Hunter scrambles out of the bed and runs into the bathroom. He hears the key turn in the lock and the distinct sound of Hunter's body settling against the door.

Did he do something wrong? Had Hunter somehow noticed his mind was with someone else? Guilt rips through him, because he's felt first hand what it's like to come second to someone else, to be cast aside as soon as someone better came along–Kurt did it to him with Chandler, Sebastian had done it to him with Adam. And now he'd put someone through the same ordeal.

He cleans up with some tissues he finds on the dresser, grabs his clothes and dresses quickly, the silence making his presence feel strange. Hunter doesn't make a sound so he doesn't try talking to him–but he's never felt so cheap in his entire life.

.

(He taps his foot impatiently on the tiled floor, biting at his lips. It's been a week and he's sick with it, worry and indirection have left his head spinning, and now he's nervous too. Blaine's class will be over any moment and he wants to talk things over, he needs to, because he's little without his best friend. He was such an idiot, thinking they could keep sleeping together without those feelings evolving into something different–he knows Blaine better than that.

The door to the auditorium opens and students start pouring out. An eternity passes before Blaine surfaces, a book in one hand, an empty coffee cup in the other, which he flings into a nearby trashcan.

"Blaine, can we talk?" he rushes over to ask, hardly giving Blaine time to register he's there.

Blaine turns, but for the first time ever his eyes don't light up when he sees him. "I'm not–" Blaine starts, but he pushes tight into Blaine's personal space and stops him talking.

"Please, B, I'm–" he breathes, desperation gripping around his heart. There's no point in holding this back, even if he's not the type to say it easily. "I'm going crazy without you," he says.

Blaine's eyes shoot up and find his, a flicker of hope he feels reflected in his own.

But it disappears as soon as it appears. Blaine casts down his eyes, palming over the strap of his shoulder bag. "Adam left?" he asks.

His heart makes a funny jump in his chest. Here he thought he was giving Blaine space to think things through, to figure out exactly what had happened. But Blaine thought he stayed away because of Adam.

"This Saturday," he answers, because there's no point in lying about it.

Blaine nods, a slight quirk at a corner of his mouth indicating he's holding something back, tears maybe. He doesn't know why he doesn't say it, why he doesn't come out with the truth that nothing happened between him and Adam. Maybe he wants Blaine to think him better than that. Could he really be so wrong? Does Blaine not know him better than this?

He stares down at his feet. "The guys want to know what to do for your birthday."

Blaine frowns, as if he'd forgotten his birthday was coming at all. He'd started planning the day with the guys a few weeks ago, making sure Blaine didn't catch on, but Trent was adamant that he ran everything by Blaine first in case their ideas were terrible. It'd seemed so important just last week, to make sure Blaine's twenty-first birthday was something special. Now all he's hoping for is that Blaine's still in his life at all in two weeks time.

"I was thinking we'd surprise you," he says. That way he could tell the guys whatever he wanted. "It being your twenty-first and all. I told Trent I'd okay it with you."

Blaine shrugs. "Sounds fine," he says, purposefully avoiding his eyes.

"Blaine–"

"I have to go," Blaine says, leaving him standing, alone, without much hope of fixing anything.)

He hates leaving Sebastian like that. He feels as lost as Sebastian had looked, only he's so much more confused; he's the one who'd made it into more, he's the one who was stupid enough to sleep with a guy who'd kicked him out over the weekend, he's the one who started all this in the first place.

And for what?

But he had his reason, and it still felt like the right one, Sebastian's the only one who could've put him back together. How does he explain that though? How does he tell Sebastian that he has zero regrets, that his feelings have evolved, that he wants more?

His rampant thoughts are interrupted when he catches sight of someone standing outside in the courtyard, eyes searching the crowds of students. _Hunter_. He halts in his tracks, making sure Hunter's there for him instead of this being a coincidental run-in, but Hunter's eyes never leave him once he locks on.

"How'd you find me?" he asks.

"You told me you were a Liberal Arts student at NYU," Hunter answers, but it doesn't provide a decent explanation as to how Hunter knew when he'd have class in this building. "I've been here a while," Hunter offers next.

He blushes, strangely flattered that Hunter went through all this trouble. There must be a reason why he's here.

"I owe you an apology," Hunter says, and points at the coffee cart a few feet away. "Can I buy you some coffee?" he asks, giving him the distinct impression that Hunter's stalling for time.

They wait for their coffees in silence, Hunter not meeting his eyes once. At Scandals Hunter had been confident, seductive, he knew what he wanted and he'd taken it, but the guy in front of him now was a far cry from that person, dressed pristinely in dark pants and a crisp white shirt.

By the time they settle down on one of the benches lining the courtyard Hunter's a heap of nerves. All of a sudden he's not so sure he wants Hunter to tell him why he kicked him out, something tells him it wasn't anything he did and that only adds to his guilt. If Hunter had believed he was in it with him, then what reason did he have to ask him to leave?

"No one knows I'm–gay," Hunter explains carefully, taking him completely by surprise. Here's this crazy confident and good looking guy who made the first move on Saturday and he's closeted? Why had he taken him home with him?

"My dad's hardcore military and–"

He shakes his head, barely stopping himself from reaching out a hand. "You don't have to explain," he says, even though he's incredibly touched that Hunter feels like he can confide in him. If only Dave had done this. If only Dave had realized he'd hear it without judgement, that he and Sebastian, Nick and Jeff would be there, that all his brothers would be there for him.

"I do," Hunter insists and averts his eyes. "I go to Scandals to be myself, get off, not to–" _take guys home with me_, he fills in the missing words. "Anyway, I'm sorry for kicking you out without an explanation."

"Thanks for telling me."

"I'd like to see you again," Hunter says, looking up at him tentatively. "If you're interested."

He smiles, struck by the sudden thought that he likes Hunter for trusting him with this part of him. "Sure."

.

He tries to fill his time with school, meeting up with Sugar or Rachel or Quinn, spending more time with his parents than he has in years, all the while feeling his birthday creeping closer and closer. Up until a week ago he thought he'd be spending it with Sebastian, they'd sing and dance together and gets drunk, have a crazy passionate night in Sebastian's room.

And now what?

Hunter's not his boyfriend, they're not dating–Hunter's still only a guy he hooked up with at Scandals and it's only Hunter's confession that made him want to see him again. They meet up for coffee a few times, but Hunter keeps his distance as long as they're in public, and only allows his eyes and hands to wander when they're secluded to the safety of his dorm room.

In so many ways, Hunter reminds him of Sebastian, the soft side hidden behind a hard exterior, a deceptively gorgeous smile often hiding his true feelings. He can't read Hunter the way he does Sebastian, he'll never know anyone like that, but he likes that Hunter lets him try.

"Do you want me to leave?" he whispers against Hunter's lips, their breathing coming down after an entire afternoon of fooling around on Hunter's bed.

"You can't stay the night," Hunter answers resolutely, a coldness in his voice the world has forced on him. It makes his chest ache in a strange way. "But no," Hunter adds, and lays his head down on his chest. "Not yet."

He relaxes into the mattress and cards his fingers through Hunter's hair, listening to his breathing, his other hand drawing circles at Hunter's shoulder. Sometimes he imagines meeting Sebastian like this, to not know him the way he does–he wonders if he'd still fall in love, if he would grow to feel so strongly about him.

But then he's reminded that he wouldn't be who he is without Sebastian, that Sebastian's life is an intricate part of his and vice versa and without Sebastian he might be stuck in a spiral of self love alternated with self loathing like Hunter. That thought makes his chest in a strange way too.

"Come to my birthday party with me," he says unprompted, a mistake as soon as the words leave his mouth.

Hunter lifts his head. "Blaine, I can't."

"We can go as friends," he argues. "No one has to know. No one will care."

Hunter sits up. "I don't think it's a good idea," he says, the cold spreading to his eyes now too. "We can't be more than this."

It's hard for him to hear that all Hunter wants from him is something physical, the same thing Sebastian decided to take, but he's the one who sought Hunter out again, who allowed him in his life. He hurts for Hunter, to think he has no support system to guide him through this–he so desperately wants to be that person, even though Hunter could've been anyone and he'd still want it.

He hasn't healed. Not really. Sebastian's ripped his stitches.

"Okay," he answers, and reaches out a hand, thumbing over Hunter's lips.

Hunter leans closer and parts his lips for him, tongue licking at his mouth. He moans as Hunter's tongue strokes long against his, fingers nipping at his skin, and they sink back down onto the bed.

.

("SURPRISE!" the entire crowd shouts once Blaine enters the bar, clapping and cheering or running over to hug him, congratulate him on his twenty-first birthday and warn him not to get into too much trouble.

The first thing he notices is that Blaine's not alone. Another guy follows behind him, a little older than Blaine and he's seen him somewhere before. His eyes narrow on the familiar face and place it instantly. Hunter. What the hell is Blaine doing with this guy? There's only one place they could've met, _Scandals_, and that thought nauseates him to the core. Blaine went to Scandals and picked this guy up, probably slept with him too, considering how he'd met Hunter at Scandals himself. And now they were – he swallows hard – _dating_? Was it that easy for Blaine to move on?

"Who's that with Blaine?" Jeff asks, handing him a beer.

His eyes don't leave Hunter, who waits patiently while Blaine makes his way around the room. "I assume it's his date," he says, the same bitter taste in his mouth that returns every time he recalls one of Blaine's questions: _Do you care? _

"Are you okay?" Jeff asks.

"It's his life." He shrugs, and takes a swig from his beer. "Not my place to tell him how to live it."

"If he'd listened to you about Kurt he could've been spared a lot of heartbreak," Jeff says, and he swallows thickly, his throat closing around any rational answer. He does care, he cares too much, that's why he can't let this lie, why he can't accept that Blaine has healed and is trying his luck with another guy, even though it's what he thought he wanted.

He moves to the centre of the room, running on fumes. "A toast!" he calls out, performing his duty as head of Cronus, his duty as Blaine's best friend-that-was.

Blaine turns towards the sound of his voice, shuffling uncomfortably, but doesn't stop him from speaking.

Everyone around him raises their drinks. "To Blaine Anderson," he says, eyes finding Blaine's. "My brother. My best friend. And the first guy to ever see me naked."

Laughter resounds throughout the bar, but Blaine can tell he's not joking. Blaine doesn't laugh, doesn't release his eyes, hears as clear as him the true implication of his words. Blaine's the only one who truly sees him, who's seen his weaknesses and strengths.

Blaine's the only one who truly loves him.

"Happy birthday," he adds, and raises his beer over his head. "Here's to your first legal drink."

Everyone cheers and Thad leads them in song, while he spins on his heels and downs the rest of his beer. His head turns faster than the rest of the room, and he has trouble breathing, struck by how big and painful his heart feels right now, beating in synchrony with his stunted breaths.

He wants Blaine to himself.

He wants all of Blaine.

But one glance back over his shoulder reminds him he screwed that up royally, because now Blaine starts introducing Hunter to their mutual friends and they're smiling, _Blaine's happy_. With someone else.

He finishes another beer, and another one. And another one. Nick and Jeff join him after his fifth drink, probably to make sure he doesn't do anything stupid, but he passed that point two weeks ago. He should've realized his feelings sooner, should've talked to Blaine when there was still a chance.

Or maybe he should never have kissed Blaine that night. Everything has become confused, Blaine as his brother, Blaine as his best friend, Blaine as his pretend-boyfriend, Blaine as his lover–it's all blurring together or maybe it was all the same person all along.

Maybe Blaine is his soulmate.

He sneaks away from the party when Nick and Jeff become too preoccupied with each other; he can't stand to see Blaine with Hunter, see them happy together when he could make Blaine happy too. He likes to think so anyway.

He finds his way outside, leaving the party behind him. This was supposed to be a good day, a celebration, he was meant to get Blaine drunk and take him home, give him an orgasm or two before they both passed out from exhaustion. He'd planned all of this, he'd been looking forward to it for so long, amused by the thought that Blaine could do the same thing for him three months from now, when his birthday came around.

But now that's all fallen to pieces.

"So here we have the elusive best friend," a voice sounds behind him.

He turns around, staring into two green eyes he's had so much closer. It must be close to a year ago now since Hunter approached him at Scandals. Blaine had been set up with the heiress to the Wilde fortune, Kitty, a feisty little blonde they'd both come to like, but it meant his schedule was wide open to seduce and be seduced by a new stranger.

Hunter had the decency to buy him a drink first, clearly enjoying being the one in control, but they'd found a private spot in the backroom soon enough. They'd contented themselves with giving each other blowjobs, but they'd drawn it out long enough to be memorable. He'd quite liked the idea of Hunter up until the moment he'd showed up as Blaine's date.

Hunter's words to him now haunt him, sink into his skin and tattoo themselves underneath the surface. _Elusive_.

"You don't even remember me, do you?" Hunter asks.

"Oh, I remember you fine," he sneers. "Remember your mouth, too.")

"You two had sex?" he asks when he hears Sebastian answer Hunter's question. It shouldn't surprise him, Sebastian picked up guys at Scandals all the time and Hunter had confessed to him that's why he went there in the first place. _To get off_. Only surprise does rip through him, along with something eerily close to disgust. Sebastian's had sex with Hunter too?

Sebastian takes a careless step forward, looming tall over him. "Isn't that what I do, killer?" he asks. "All I'm good for?"

And in Sebastian's eyes he finally sees, the hurt, the reason he walked out of his bedroom two weeks ago–he _hurt_ Sebastian and that's the last thing he thought himself capable of. Was it the two of them, alone, exclusive, the entire time?

"Blaine, let's go," Hunter says, grabbing him by the arm.

He pulls free immediately, staggering in between Hunter and Sebastian, his surprise and disgust replaced by pity, by guilt, because he never had any intention of hurting Sebastian. But Sebastian had trivialized their time together, told him they were friends having fun and nowhere in there had he implied an exclusive relationship. They were _pretending_, and God knows who Sebastian might have been with outside of that agreement.

"Let's go." Hunter grabs his arm again. "He's drunk."

Before he can reply Sebastian shoots a step forward and shoves hard at Hunter's shoulder. "Don't you fucking touch him," Sebastian says, pushing again, grabbing Hunter by his shirt collar.

Hunter shoves Sebastian back and tackles Sebastian to the floor, punching him in the face. "Stop!" he shouts, trying to pry Hunter off Sebastian but Hunter's stronger than him. Sebastian cries out, trying to protect his face, his lip bleeding. "Hunter, stop!"

Hunter's body finally gives way and he positions himself between his date and his–his what exactly? He doesn't know who Sebastian is to him anymore, but he doesn't want to see him get hurt either. "Hunter, please," he begs, hands on his chest.

"You're choosing his side?" Hunter asks, breathing hard. "He started this."

His hands drop to his sides. "Doesn't mean you have to finish it."

Hunter takes a deep breath, eyes darkening. "Let's go," he says, clearly resisting the urge to grab him again. "He can take care of himself."

Sebastian's still on the ground, carefully feeling at his jaw, making no move to get up. Guilt tiptoes through him at the sight; Sebastian's drunk and they made a pact years ago, a very serious pact, to never let each other go home alone when they were drunk–neither of them has ever broken that pact.

He looks back at Hunter; he's only known Hunter for a week but they'll never be much more than what they are now. He doesn't want to date someone who's closeted when he already has to hide so much of who he is now. And there's anger in Hunter that scares him.

"You two are pathetic," Hunter spits, and turns without thinking twice.

He draws in a breath. He's not going to run after Hunter, he can't apologize for caring about Sebastian.

"Everything okay out here?" Rich asks, peeking his head outside.

"Yeah." He nods. "Sebastian's drunk. I'm going to drive him home."

(The fist to his face must have damaged his hearing too, because did Blaine say he'd drive him home? Blaine doesn't owe him anything at this point, certainly not over some stupid pact they made years ago.

"It's your party, man," Rich says. "I can drive him."

Blaine sighs. "No, I'll do it," he says.

He wonders when he became such a burden to Blaine.

Blaine turns and closes the distance between them, pulling him up from the ground. He hands over his keys without objection; he's in no state to drive, and he can't deny having Blaine to himself for a while fills him with a certain amount of glee. But that might be the alcohol feeling for him.

They don't talk, not when they're getting in the car, or when they hit a stoplight. Things have never felt so tense between them. His skin buzzes at Blaine's proximity and he wants nothing rather than reach over and pull Blaine into a hug, whisper_ I'm sorry, I didn't know_ in his ear over and over again, wind a hand in dark curls and feel Blaine's breath against his skin again.

"Do you miss me at all?"

The question sounds loud in the silence, echoing backwards into their past.

"Blaine, we've been friends since kindergarten," he answers without thinking, because it's true, it'll never not be true, he misses Blaine like crazy because without Blaine there's a part of him missing, hollow and upsetting at the centre of him, and it's making him absolutely miserable. "Of course I miss you."

"Not like–" Blaine sighs. "Not like that,"

"Why not?" He turns his head. "There was always more between us than–"_ sex, just sex_. But there was more, there was so much, too much to put into words. He's not sure those words even exist. "I miss talking to you," he says, staring out the window again.

"Me too," Blaine says softly.

He glances down at Blaine's hand, wrapped loosely around the stick shift, and he resists the urge to take hold of it. He's drunk, and he doesn't want to say or do something stupid that will only mess things up more. But there are things he needs to know.

"Look," he says, Blaine's possible answer to his question already sitting heavy on his chest. "I know I fucked up, but we're still friends, right?"

"Yeah," Blaine answers immediately, eyes finding his swiftly. "Of course."

The relief that washes over him hits him harder than he anticipated. It was silly to think that one mistake would erase years of friendship, and maybe all Blaine needed was time, but two weeks have never felt heavier, lonelier, and he thinks that must be why Hunter's here tonight. To heal Blaine from his loneliness.

Blaine parks the car and kills the engine. He could get out right now, go up to his room, put some ice on his lip and sleep until he hits his hangover. But he wants every moment he can get with Blaine.

"You didn't fuck up," Blaine's voice sounds small and frail.

"What?"

Blaine clears his throat. "You didn't fuck up," he repeats, his hands wringing around the steering wheel. "I did," he says, and casts down his eyes. "I made us into something we weren't."

_You're wrong_, he wants to say,_ you saw us for what we truly are_, but he can't do the words justice in the state he's in and he's not sure Blaine would listen–there's a distance between them called Adam and Hunter and _Blaine, we're not boyfriends_, things they both put there, some to stave off the pain and some out of sheer ignorance. But it's a distance not even Kurt had caused.

"Do you think we can ever go back?" he asks instead, because if he can't have all of Blaine he selfishly wants to keep what he always had.

"I don't know," Blaine whispers, and he chooses to hear a hint of hope. "Maybe.")

.

_Sam Evans is in a relationship with Brittany S. Pierce._

The message pings on his cellphone when he's in the middle of his English essay and it's an instant distraction from the boring subject matter. His curiosity gets the best of him and right after 'like'-ing Sam's status update he clicks through to the girl's Facebook page. Her profile picture shows her with a high ponytail and in cheerleading outfit and he smiles; falling for a cheerleader sounds right up Sam's alley.

He opens his Skype account, checking to see if Sam's online, tapping the call button as soon as he sees Sam's username lit up on the screen.

"Hey, alligator," Sam says the moment he's accepted the call. The nickname has stuck since they parted ways a few months ago.

"Hey, Wolverine." He laughs. "You're dating someone?"

"Oh yeah! She's really great," Sam says, a goofy grin opening up his face. "That's not a problem, is it?"

"Hey no," he rushes out and shakes his head. The last thing he wants to do is make Sam feel bad for loving who he chooses. "I don't judge," he says. "I'm happy for you."

"Thanks, man." Sam smiles. "I told her about you, if that's what you're worried about."

A bitter taste fills his mouth. There are no secrets between Sam and Brittany, two people who he assumes haven't known each other for that long–why can't he talk to Sebastian? He keeps pushing Sebastian away, keeping him at a distance, making himself sick with the idea that he's lost his best friend. But that's his fault too. Sebastian had made an effort to talk to him, to ask questions they needed out in the open, and all he'd done was turn his back, protect this fragile thing he calls his heart.

"What's wrong?" Sam asks.

His resolve plummets; he needs to talk to someone about this or he's going to lose his mind. So he tells Sam everything, how pretending to be boyfriends had all been his idea from the start, about how Dave's death had affected him in ways he still didn't understand, how Sebastian had been there for him every step of the way and he'd gradually started taking more, asking more, but Sebastian hadn't objected once.

"... and I was so stupid," he concludes, having lost track of time. "I know what he's like. I've always known that."

"Can't really blame him," Sam comments.

He blinks up at his screen, frowning. What the hell was that supposed to mean? He should've expected Sebastian to break his heart? Was he not allowed to think his best friend better than that, to believe he knew better?

"We did hook up while you two were–pretending," Sam explains.

His lips part and he's almost certain he was about to say something that proved him right, but Sam's words stop him short. Sam, Tucker, James, Ford, even Hunter, all guys that hadn't meant a whole lot to him, that weren't anything serious because he finally had this freedom and why not enjoy every single minute of it? He might've had something real with Sam, if they could've gotten to know each other better or distance didn't separate them, but he still wouldn't have been able to account for Dave's death.

Had he made Sebastian one of those guys? Sebastian was right, he used him to heal, to take the edge off his loneliness. Had he taken that too far? Was he to blame for all of this, that kiss after Dave's funeral, taking it further one drunken night in the backseat of Sebastian's car, blowing Sebastian in that bathroom stall?

But then how did Adam figure into all of this?

"Did I say something wrong?" Sam asks.

He leans back in his chair. "No," he says. Sam has given him something to think about.

.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Eli asks, smoothing a hand down his shirt for the fifth time since they climbed out of the car. It's adorable, if not slightly worrying, that Eli hasn't even met anyone in Cronus yet and he's already this nervous.

"If you're serious about joining you should at least know what you're getting yourself into," he says, pushing through the doors to the bar, most of his brothers already inside by the sound of it.

Eli looks like he's about to have a panic attack. "Hey, relax," he clasps a hand over Eli's shoulder. "It's just a party."

Eli bites at his lips. "Why did you join?"

"Their zero-tolerance policy," he says, the answer coming as natural to him as breathing.

Eli raises an eyebrow.

He chuckles. "It's not a sale's pitch," he says. "You become part of Cronus, you become part of a family. These guys are my brothers."

They push through the second set of doors, his hand remaining firmly on Eli's shoulder because he fears Eli might actually turn tail and run. And his eyes still do it instinctually, search for Sebastian through the crowd, still finding him every time. Sebastian catches sight of him too and raises his hand in a wave, before returning to his conversation with Mike.

"Come on," he says, pulling Eli along. "I'll introduce you to everyone."

(This time there's only pain–he's lost the ability to distinguish between plain old jealousy or the pain of having lost Blaine forever. It simply inches across his chest and stops him breathing properly, the thought that he'll never be able to tell Blaine how he feels a paralytic travelling through his bloodstream.

The boy at Blaine's side seems nice enough, and their closeness implies they've known each other for a while, but it's only been a few days since Blaine's birthday party and he can't figure out when this happened. When had Blaine found the time to pick up another guy? Did he do it to spite him?)

"This is Nick and Jeff. They're a package deal," he says, watching Eli shake first Nick's and then Jeff's hand. Most of the tension has left his shoulders, and he thinks any moment now Eli might actually start speaking.

Eli's a nice guy, they'd met at an art exhibition at the beginning of the school year and became casual acquaintances. They greeted each other at school and talked if they had the time, but it was never anything more than that. But lately Eli's been struggling with the pressures of college, working a job while maintaining his grade point average. So he figured he could use some friends.

Cronus wasn't all about partying and drinking. Brothers helped each other out.

Sebastian keeps to himself most of the night, and he doesn't want to leave Eli to fend for himself in a new environment–he likes this mentoring role Eli has asked him to take, how it comes natural to him and it's even making him consider it as a viable career option in years to come.

Until at one point during the night he's alone, Eli preoccupied with interrogating Mike about everything he wants to know about Cronus, and a body pushes in close behind him. A body so familiar he almost leans back against it so he can drown in the memories of the two of them together.

"Come home with me," Sebastian's voice sounds low and hushed in his ear, sending a shiver down his spine, Sebastian's chest brushing against his back.

He turns around without claiming much distance, Sebastian's proximity making him long for the past. He wants nothing more than for all of it to disappear, all the baggage, all the secrets and lies. All the doubts.

"Come home with me tonight," Sebastian repeats. "Not this–_boy_."

"His name's Eli," he says. "And it's not like that."

"You're leaving with me tonight."

Heat starts in his stomach. "And why would I do that?" he asks. He can't let it go back to what it was.

"This isn't–" _(the guy for you_. Maybe it's too aggressive but he means every word of it. Blaine can't possibly think there's someone out there who could ever understand him better than he does.) "I want you to myself."

His lips part and he wishes being Sebastian's guy could be enough for him.

"Blaine?" Eli's voice barely registers. It must be close to midnight now and they came in Eli's car, but his feet are pinned to the floor, kept in place by Sebastian's desire only, and he can't think about leaving. All he feels is their history, a sea of memories that overflows because there's few Sebastian doesn't feature in, a safe comforting place that's been corrupted by fear and jealousy and mistrust.

His voice becomes a shadow of what it normally is when he answers: "You had me all to yourself." There's still Adam, there's still Hunter, and now apparently Sebastian has decided Eli stood between them too.

It takes him all the strength in the world to pull away from Sebastian, to leave him standing there all alone yet again. He can't believe he keeps doing this to them, that he's the one who sacrificed their friendship in favor of a physical relationship. He ruined everything.

He runs outside for safety, a buffer zone between him and Sebastian so he doesn't have to feel it too direct, the pain of absence, the loss of a true friend. He's unaware Eli stopped walking until he tries the handle of the car door, and finds it locked. He turns around, Eli a few feet away from him, regarding him curiously.

"What?"

"You're in love with him," Eli says.

He casts down his eyes, the truth too painful to face. "He's not in love with me."

Eli takes a few steps closer, forcing him to look up. "You're an idiot," he says.

And he doesn't know why he has to hear it from someone else to believe it, why Eli has to call him an idiot for him to see how all of this has been a succession of misunderstandings and misplaced words, why it takes someone who's pretty much a stranger to him to tell him_ his best friend_ has feelings for him too. Because of course he means something to Sebastian. Sebastian isn't emotionless and accusing him of that makes him a terrible friends.

His heart beats fast, fearful that Sebastian will do something stupid like pick up a guy at Scandals and spend the night with him, that he'll make the same mistake he made with Hunter and destroy their bond beyond repair.

"I have to go," he says, barely checking to see if it's okay with Eli and next thing he's back inside the bar, scouring the crowd for Sebastian, only he's nowhere in sight.

"He parked out back," Trent's by his side without warning, but the words feel like they're his salvation.

He tosses Trent a quick 'thanks' before he's running towards the back exit, terrified that he'll miss Sebastian, that he'll miss his opportunity to act on this lightning-strike-feeling and he'll have to ask one of the guys to drive him to the dorms. But when he hurtles through the heavy door, heart beating like a maniac, Sebastian's still walking to his car.

"Why should I believe you?" he calls, his voice stopping Sebastian short. Sebastian turns, eyes locking in his. The distance between them shortens, but for now it's still an abyss. "I told you I wanted you to myself, but you stuck with the idea that all we had was sex."

Only did he? Did he say it? He can't remember.

"Because I didn't know, Blaine," Sebastian answers, shaking his head as he takes a few steps closer. "I honestly didn't know how much I cared until you slipped away," (_and nothing happened with Adam_, but what's the point of saying that now, it might've happened if Blaine hadn't said anything, if they hadn't fought. He might not have pushed Adam away when he kissed him.) "I was an idiot."

_Not the only idiot,_ the thought rushes through him. Yes, he's in love with Sebastian, but he's never said it, he's not sure he could if Sebastian asked him to. Maybe it can be enough, maybe all he needs is Sebastian's care and him being there, keeping him safe from harm, saying the right thing when he needs it the most. Maybe all he needs is his soulmate in his life without that being more.

"I'm miserable without you," he confesses, a tear running down his cheek. "You've always been there and now that you're not–"_ I'm lost, I'm hurting, I'm half the person I used to be_. "There's no one else I can talk to. Hunter was a mistake and it's not even like that with Eli, but–"_ I'm the one who fucked up_.

"I don't need you to feel the same," he says, grabbing onto Sebastian's sides, bunching the fabric of his shirt together. "I just need you."

Sebastian cups his face in both his hands. "I'm here," (he says, taking in every inch of Blaine he can get.) "I'm right here. I always will be."

"I'm sorry." He sniffles. "This is all my fault. If I hadn't asked you to k–kiss me, none of this would've happened." But everything had stopped making sense one winter afternoon and the only thing that had kept him from falling were Sebastian's arms. (He remembers it clear as day, Blaine's face had fallen blank and his knees had given out, so he'd grabbed him around his waist and guided him into a nearby chair.) "I just–I'm scared, Sebastian, I'm so scared that Dave..."

"Stop," Sebastian says softly and pulls him to his chest, his face settling in Sebastian's neck. He twines his arms around Sebastian, basking in this closeness, breathing him in deep. He's missed Sebastian so much. "Dave knew he could come to us. It was his choice not to."

His fingers dig into Sebastian's back. "I don't trust myself anymore."

"It was only you," Sebastian says.

He pulls back, but only enough so he can find Sebastian's eyes.

"It was you and me," Sebastian says, thumbing over his cheekbones. "The entire time." (He hadn't planned on it, he never thought it would be. But they'd uncovered something new. Something real.) "And I fucked up the same way I always do, the same way I will again, because that's how I am. I–"

"Stop," he says, reaching up around Sebastian's neck.

"Blaine, I–"

"Don't," he says, fingers curling in Sebastian's hair.

He doesn't want to hear it, not now, not yet, maybe not ever. It might not work out, they might not make it, but he'll fight to keep Sebastian in his life no matter what it takes.

"Don't say it," he whispers, and raises himself on his toes, capturing Sebastian's lips with his own. They both grab on for dear life, like they've been starved for water or air these past three weeks, his arms around Sebastian's neck while Sebastian's lock around his waist, keeping their bodies pulled flush together.

He's only vaguely aware that their brothers are cheering them on inside.

Sebastian pulls away with a smile. "I'm gonna kill them."

"No, you're not." He presses another kiss to Sebastian's lips. "I'm not sure any judge would ever grant you conjugal visits."

.

It started out as ruse.

.

(It ends like something else.)

.

(His eyelids are too heavy. He draws a hand down his chest, checking if he's all still there, because he can't feel the edges of himself, still drifting between sleep and wakefulness, one of them attempting to coax him closer again.

It takes him a moment or two to remember where he is or how he'd gotten there, until something stir next to him, turning on his outstretched arm. Right, three beers and a handful of shots, it's all coming back now. He'd gotten slammed at his birthday party, under Blaine's meticulous supervision, but he'd still had way too much to drink.

He's not sure how they'd made it back here, but he suspects it involved a lot of manhandling on Blaine's part.

He cracks one of his eyes open, the room too bright, and he blinks hard. The sheets feel rough beneath him, grating against his skin, evidence of a pleasant and intense night. And that slowly comes back to him as well, Blaine's voice seductive and teasing in his ear, telling him he had one final present to unwrap, and he'd damn well better take his time, because there were no refunds.

He smiles at the memory, Blaine's body unwrapped with every button he popped on his shirt, writhing underneath him, begging him for more. It was a night he wouldn't soon forget, but then most of life was filled with moments like that.

He opens both eyes and turns his head, and when he takes in Blaine asleep next to him, he sees that same brave boy who stood in his doorway one of the nights he slept over and his parents started fighting downstairs. Blaine had closed the door behind him, tiptoed over to his bed with an old cassette player under his arm and crawled underneath the covers. Blaine had pulled his hands from his ears, only so he could hand over the headphones. That night, he not only fell asleep to the sounds of Hanson, but Blaine softly humming along because he knew the cassette by heart..

It was the first time he was old enough to realize he loved Blaine, and that Blaine would be the only one to know him like that.

He knew it then, and he knows it now.

Blaine breathes in deep and opens one of his eyes, only to close it again when he decides the light is too intrusive.

"Hey," he says, pulling Blaine to his chest.

"Shhh." Blaine closes a hand over his eyes rather than his mouth. "Sleep," he croaks, and turns around on his other side, going back to sleep.

He chuckles and spoons his body around Blaine's, linking their hands together. Blaine pushes back into him, humming contentedly when he presses a kiss to his shoulder.)

* * *

**THE END**

* * *

#

**if you can, please let me know what you think!**


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